


Dealt An Unexpected Blow 2: Nocturnal Considerations

by schumie



Series: BLOWVERSE [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AU, Intercrural Sex, M/M, blowjob, handjob, way too much pointless shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schumie/pseuds/schumie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The highly-anticipated sequel to An Unexpected Blow that no one asked for! Join resident doctor Midorima and his sexy fling Takao in a wild ride that is unnecessarily long and probably too serious for a porn fic, but it's all about the journey, or whatever they say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dealt An Unexpected Blow 2: Nocturnal Considerations

**Author's Note:**

> For [starsinew](archiveofourown.org/users/starsinew/pseuds/starsinew) and for Peek, who actually did ask for this (masochists). This monstrosity never would have been finished without you. Thank you for being my cheerleaders.
> 
> Note: after 37k words, I couldn't be assed to edit or beta it. Sorry.

Midorima Shintarou was covered in blood. His chest rose and sunk with large breaths. He moved to a disinfecting station, tossing his scrubs into the biohazard bin. The fact that he could make the shot without looking was a testament to how much he worked. He washed his face carefully and put on a new set of scrubs. He had been put in to help in ER. A patient who was a frequent flyer—all the nurses knew him by name and his preferred narcotics—had finally crossed the line to get himself admitted. The result was lots of blood and immediate admission to an operation room, complete with anesthesia, and afterwards, possibly morphine. Maybe not if his doctor knew about him. In a few years, Midorima would be the one sewing that patient’s arms up. For now, he could only test the blood type and do whatever else he could.

 

Being only a resident, Midorima wasn’t legally allowed to make medical decisions in regards to patients without a supervising physician’s approval, but the hospital, one of the most prestigious in the whole of Honshu, was prestigious because of its seasoned staff. That meant many positions were filled by an aging physician population that would probably not retire until they were forced to. That, in turn, meant that, though medical students would quite possibly kill for placement there, the hospital had very few positions to fill for 'grunts'. Of course the actual doctors wouldn't be running around and filling out their own paperwork. That meant that the residents and PA’s that were there had to work especially hard. It would be untoward to have a renowned nurse changing catheter bags, after all. That said, Midorima had an outstanding record so far and many of the nurses and doctors trusted him enough to let him handle the more basic things, merely waving a hand and signing the papers he presented to them with the most cursory of glances. Midorima preferred this, having more independence than would be normal, and accepting advice or wisdom when it was offered to him.

 

Thus the ER shift and all of the blood. Midorima didn’t understand how someone, even an addict, could want something so badly, they would hurt themselves to that degree. Correction--that level of addiction wasn’t desire. At that level, it was a physical need with the horrible repercussions of withdraw if that need wasn’t met, Midorima reminded himself. Addiction was an alien concept to Midorima, who’s only addiction was the need to know his horoscope every day. Midorima knew a lot of the hospital staff took pills to stay awake on their long shifts or drank heavily afterwards to cope. Midorima refused to do so. He had chosen his occupational path knowing full well what it would entail, and he would walk it as best he could without the aid of substances.That was why he checked his horoscope every day--so he could be as best prepared to deal with what would come his way.

 

That said, as Midorima put his watch back on (his father scoffed when he had seen the plastic watch Midorima had opted for in light of having to wash his hands constantly and insisted that Midorima wear a proper gentleman’s time piece) he found himself thinking about a drink. Multiple drinks. At a certain bar that showed the basketball games on Fridays. If he were being honest, it was more the person he had been drinking with that he was thinking about.

 

Midorima, taking on double shifts for the rest of the week and assisting Dr. Tamai with his rounds, had managed to finagle a free Friday night. That meant having to deal with less alcohol poisoning cases and less people with broken noses after fights. In most cases it would have been a bit of a relief, but in this particular case, Midorima was almost...aggravated. And excited. After he finished his shift, he went home to shower. He sent a short message to his younger sister, discreetly asking her which sweater vest she thought looked best on him. He ignored her snide remarks until he got an answer, and dodged her numerous questions afterwards with a good-night and good-dreams message. He changed his underwear and socks, put on his blue and green sweater vest, combed his hair, cleaned his glasses, hailed a cab, gave directions to the location, got out in front of the bar, and found himself frozen perfectly in front of the door.

 

Midorima realized he hadn’t prepared what to say. Everything he’d done, he hadn’t thought of the most important thing. He pulled the small green glass frog out of his pants pocket and rubbed at it, willing that day's lucky item to bring him luck. His horoscope had been vague and ranked solidly in the middle. Perhaps he should have bought three glass frogs. No, he was being foolish, it didn't work that way.

 

He stared absently at the heavy western door, his tired medical mind groping and comparing possible greetings. He heard a loud chorus of cheers erupt from somewhere inside. He reminded himself that he was likely more intelligent than most of the people in that bar, and, if not, he was undoubtedly the most lucky because he had followed his horoscope exactly. He had had only seaweed and pineapple for lunch because they were that month's lucky foods (according to a fashion magazine his sister had left out—it couldn't hurt). He had his green glass frog. He had parted his hair slightly more to--

 

The large wooden door swung open and hit Midorima square in the face, knocking him expertly sideways.

 

“Haha, yeah, but what was that pre-game--oh. Hey, you good?”

 

A gruff-looking, large man was leaning over Midorima, who was gingerly checking to see if his glasses had broken.

 

“Aw, crap. Did I knock you down? I’m sorry,” a large hand was held out to him. Midorima nodded his head in thanks but avoided taking the hand, pushing himself to his feet. The man looked at him oddly but shrugged.

 

“Hey, Okubo-san, do you have a--oh, hey!”

 

The large man and another man stepped aside, and there he was. Takao. A slightly shocked, slightly impressed look on his face.

 

“Good evening. I’m Midorima,” Midorima said to Takao’s forehead.

 

“Uh, yeah, I remember” Takao grinned crookedly. “I don’t get many bathroom stalkers. Especially not handsome green-haired beasts like you.”

 

The large man (Okubo?) and the other man sighed and Takao waved them off with a smile. They walked to the corner of the street, leaning against the building. The other man pulled out cigarettes, and they started talking. Midorima couldn’t hear them.

 

“Sooooo,” a cheery voice started and two large hands grabbed either of Midorima’s arms, successfully steering him away from the reach of the door. “What’s up, uh, Midorima…?”

 

Midorima waited for Takao to continue. He didn't understand why Takao was looking at him expectantly.

 

“..Right. Uh. So watch the game?"

 

“Er, in a manner of speaking, yes,” Midorima pushed up his glasses. He felt a slight crack in the frame.

 

“Oh! You’re a Vorpal Swords fan too?! Wait, don’t tell me you’re a Sea Dragons fan, because if so, I can’t speak to you anymore. You understand.”

 

“I--what, no. Er, yes, Vorpal Swords. I came to watch the game. Before, you said Fridays--”

 

“Ohhhh, so you came to watch the game _with me_ ,” Takao peeked up at Midorima and Midorima had the distinct feeling that something was being snatched from him.

 

“I-I didn’t say that. I’m a fan of the Vorpal Swords. I know they’re playing against the Sea Dragons tonight and--”

 

“You’re literally just repeating what I told you,” Takao grinned at Midorima, and he leaned back against the building. Dark, drunken shapes could be seen through the windows behind him.

 

“I--I assure you that--” Midorima sputtered.

 

“Who’s you’re favorite then? Player. On Vorpal Swords.”

 

There it was. Of course, tonight had to be the night that the Vorpal Swords were playing. Midorima really should have bought three frogs after all, he thought. “While he is often overlooked for the...more guady...members of the team, I respect Akashi Seijuurou as a strategist and believe he is a very talented point guard and--”

 

Takao’s body slumped. “Of course you’d be an Akashi fan,” he sighed. Midorima was confused. He had thought Takao would be appeased with his knowledge of the players. It had seemed to have the opposite effect. Midorima realized how much he was out of his element. He wasn’t in a professional situation, and his prior knowledge of Takao was very limited. He should first--

 

“You have bad taste. That guy’s got a bad personality,” suddenly Takao’s face was in his, and it was smiling. “Maybe we can knock some sense into you. The game’s about to start. Let’s get in there so we can get a spot at the bar to watch. Might be too late already. If so, you can just put me on your shoulders and I'll report everything to you.”

 

“I believe that has a high possibility of being very dangerous,” Midorima murmured. He followed as Takao led the way into the bar, holding the door open for Midorima and gesturing like a gentleman. Midorima stared for a moment at Takao, then went in ahead, resigning himself to a night of confusion. He wagered there would always be some amount of confusion when interacting with people one was not already familiar with first-hand or second. He would have to adjust to it.

 

There was a surprising number of people inside the bar. He nearly lost Takao in the crowd when a large hand shot out and grabbed his arm. It pulled him, weaving, through a sea of tshirts and jeans. Somehow, Takao had managed to weasel himself into a seat at the bar, leaving Midorima to stand awkwardly behind him as Takao ordered them two drinks. Midorima had to lean in close to speak to Takao. “You didn’t ask what I wanted.”

 

He had to pull away quickly backwards when Takao spun around on his seat to grin at him.

 

“You don’t look like a guy that has a drink.”

 

Midorima felt oddly accused and also annoyed. He pushed his glasses up curtly. “And why do you say that.”

 

“Because the first time I met you, you were puking up whiskey. The second time, you smelled like yuzu sours, and mostly, you didn’t ask what drink I’d want, which probably means you’re used to drinking whatever other people force you to.”

 

Midorima frowned and Takao spun around to grab two shot glasses that had appeared on the bar, then spun back around again, holding one up for Midorima. “Soooo… hello, my name is Takao and I will be your enabler tonight. I will see to your state of inebriation and ensure that you reach the best point of buzzedness and maintain that point for as long as possible. If you have any other needs,” at this point Takao did a slow up-down of Midorima, and winked, “don’t hesitate to call. Cheers.”

 

Midorima gaped at him.

 

“Am I gonna have to cheers myself? That’s harsh.”

 

Midorima frowned and took the shot offered to him. Takao clinked his shot glass to Midorima’s with a “kanpai!” and demolished it in one swift movement. Midorima watched as Takao’s head tipped back to its normal angle and he licked his lips. Midorima sniffed at the shot, ignoring Takao’s raised eyebrow, then tried his best to copy what Takao had done.

 

He was not ready for the hell-fire to scorch his trachea and thus coughed, loudly, several times. Takao grinned and stood up to slap him on the back, which was extremely unhelpful.

 

“Now, let’s watch this game,” Takao grinned at him loudly.

 

Surprisingly, Takao didn’t talk much during the game, except to cheer and boo at the big-screen TV. Unsurprisingly, it was a very skewed match. The Sea Dragons were a smaller team, less well-known for a reason, from a rural prefecture. They didn’t stand a chance against the Vorpal Swords, but that didn’t stop Takao from cheering, each time a basket was made. And that was often. Midorima watched, the movements of some of the members all too familiar. He watched the lazy ease some of the players had while going in for dunks and lay-ups, and the confident control of the point guard, never backing down even though it was obviously a won game. Akashi Seijuurou took each battle seriously, because there was no option other than victory.

 

When their shooting guard made a three-pointer in the last second of the game, Takao threw himself into Midorima, creating a violent side hug.

 

“Did you see that! That’s some amazing shooting, last second! Even though they were so far ahead, that pressure is still super intense, cuz I mean, you can’t miss the _last shot_ , right? Man, they tore it up again tonight.” And indeed they had. The Sea Dragons faced a lamentable defeat. 161 points to 48. It could hardly have been considered a match, but Midorima knew that each game counted. He admired the Sea Dragon’s captain when he came on during the after-game, proud and determined to work harder.

 

People around them began to disperse and there was room for both of them to lean against the bar easily. Takao ordered two more shots and slid one to Midorima. “You’re buying this one.” Midorima nodded, placing a bill on the bar and accepting the shotglass. “I have to say, he’s got a serious attitude problem, but as an ex-point guard, I have to admit your Akashi guy is pretty damn good. It’s like he has everything figured out ahead of time.”

 

“Perhaps he does,” Midorima sniffed at the alcohol again, unable to identify it as Takao tipped his head back to consume his own glass. “He was always an excellent strategist. I never defeated him in chess or shogi.”

 

“PFFFFT,” Takao’s eyes bulged and half of the shot went spraying out, lightly showering Midorima’s sweater vest. Midorima stared down at his clothes, the pungent smell of alcohol radiating from them immediately. Takao stared at him with wide eyes. “You know _Akashi Seijuurou?!_ He’s--I mean… ohmygod, I’m so sorry, I totally soaked you,” Takao pulled out a hand towel and Midorima had flashbacks to a dank alley. He could almost taste bile.

 

“Quite alright,” Midorima tried not to snap the words out, pulling out his own towel. Takao raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged.

 

“Seriously though, how do you know Akashi?”

 

Midorima was silent, wiping his shirt. He folded the towel, inside out so that any liquid wouldn’t touch his trousers, and slipped it back in his pocket. He pushed up his glasses and peered at Takao, who had waited patiently, a foxy smile on his face, the whole time. Midorima was used to it. People finding out his connections--his father, or his mother, or his old teammates--and them sidling up to him, in hopes of benefiting from a friendship with him. He did not blame them--it was practical of them. But it did get tiresome and it was a waste of time. Midorima did not believe in wasting time.

 

“Ischool. have not been in contact with him as of late. We parted ways when we chose our respective professions.”

 

“Huh. True. Doctors are busy. I know pro ball players are too.”

 

“I would prefer to speak of another topic.”

 

“You mean besides Akashi or besides you being a doctor?”

 

Resident, Midorima thought he should correct, but he glanced at Takao, who was looking at him with a trace of seriousness. Midorima was caught in the silver line before he reached up to adjust his glasses. Had Takao already known who he was? Had he known since the beginning? Midorima didn’t know what profession Takao was in but he doubted it would be beneficial to himself. In this arrangement, Takao had much more to benefit from. Midorima decided he would end whatever he had been doing here, if that were the case. “Both.”

 

Midorima waited.

 

Takao shrugged, “Sure, no prob. Another drink?”

 

Takao turned back to the bar before Midorima could answer. Midorima stared at Takao, watching his smooth interaction with the bartender, who seemed to know Takao well. Takao’s voice was startling, and wild. It fell and rose constantly. Midorima was not used to such sing-song voices. Even the female residents had the practiced even tones of nurses and doctors when at work. It felt like too much. Like Takao was putting on a show. Was he normally this….this dramatic? It was almost dizzying.

 

This time, when Takao turned back around, Midorima was handed a larger drink. It was green.

 

“I figured I’d give you something a little lighter. You’ve got a bit of a glow going on. It looks good on you though, makes your green peepers stand out,” Takao chuckled. “What’s wrong? Never had a Midori Sour? This isn’t exactly the kinda place where I could get you a Verde Mary, so you’ll have to settle, unfortunately…”

 

“It looks like a biochemical hazard,” Midorima wrinkled his nose.

 

Takao laughed loudly, once, like a sharp bark, and Midorima was lucky that Takao hadn’t taken a drink yet, because it undoubtedly would have ended up all over Midorima again.

 

“Honestly, it kinda is. Bottoms up!” Takao clinked his glass against Midorima’s and took a large pull. Midorima followed suit, more moderately, and was surprised at the high level of sweetness. He took another sip.

 

“Oh! He likes it!” Takao watched him, Midorima suspected he was feigning surprise, but wasn’t sure.

 

“It’s more favorable to the previous...shots.”

 

“So you’re a frilly drink person. Unexpected...then again, maybe it’s totally not.”

 

“I’m not a _filly drink_ _person_.”

 

“Oh, really? My bad. You know, I have a friend that will only drink pina coladas. He insists on seeing the pineapple first, too. Just saying, no judgement here.”

 

Midorima shifted uncomfortably, ready to retort. He looked at Takao’s shining silver eyes and opted to take another drink instead. Even Dr. Tamai had commented the day before that Midorima’s bedside manner was lacking. While Midorima didn’t think genial social interactions were that important for doctors, he did realize that his current situation required them. That, and, as much as he wanted to leave right that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Perhaps he was inebriated. Midorima eyed the remainder of Dr. Frankenstein’s green liquid, only relaxing when he reminded himself that Victor Frankenstein had not been an accredited doctor at all.

 

“Oh! I know!” Takao snapped the fingers of one of his hands, “Next time, I’ll have the bartender make all the green cocktails I know! We can make it a sort of….green _cock_ tail tasting,” Takao grinned at Midorima.

 

It was a bit difficult for Midorima to swallow the final bit of his green concoction.

 

“You okay there?”

 

“Yes,” Midorima placed the empty glass on the bar. He decided it was not worth the effort to point out that Takao did not know him well enough to be on a first-name basis.

 

“Well, it’s getting kinda late, so…”

 

Midorima was suddenly aware of the area around them and how quiet it was. The music had been turned off, the TV had been lowered and there was an old man on TV using some device that appeared to be massaging his arthritic knees. Besides for the bartender, only four people remained. Two of them had been with Takao before and there were two others with them, crowded around a table, huddled together over what seemed to be old video footage of a basketball game, judging by how there was a sudden outburst of “Geez! _Another_ 3-pointer?!” Midorima wondered if they were watching a video of the Golden State Warriors.

 

“Hey.”

 

Midorima’s attention was pulled back immediately, like a rubber band, to silver eyes directly in front of his. A hand waved in front of his face and he jerked back involuntarily.

 

Takao chuckled, moving back to sit down on his seat again. “You okay to go home?”

 

“Y-yes. I apologize. My mind wandered.”

 

Takao put an arm on the bar and leaned into his hand, smiling at Midorima in a way that made him feel as if he were being diagnosed.

 

“I’m that boring, huh?”

 

Midorima gaped.

 

“Not at—” Midorima paused and pushed up his glasses, gaining composure. “I never said such a thing.”

 

Takao smiled, wide. It wasn’t the fox grin, it was a large smile that took up half his face and turned his sharp eyes into glowing slivers.

 

“That’s good to hear. I have to catch the last train home now, though.” Takao stood up and Midorima stared at him. “Do this again sometime?”

 

“I...if you are taking the train home, I believe it would be wise for me to accompany you to the station.”

 

“It _is_ awfully dangerous for an attractive dame like me to be walking alone at a time of night like this,” Takao threw some money on the bar, shouted a thanks to the bartended, and headed towards the door.

 

Midorima quickly stood up, regretted it, found his legs, left a few bills on the bar that were undoubtedly too much, and followed after Takao.

 

Midorima discovered Takao blatantly waiting for him outside, chewing a piece of gum. Wordlessly, Takao held out the pack, offering some. Midorima normally never chewed gum, but he had an odd taste in his mouth after whatever Takao had been ordering them to drink, and so took a stick from the pack. It tasted overwhelmingly minty and was undoubtedly full of sugar and artificial ingredients.

 

“Alright, you gentleman, escort me,” Takao nodded in the direction of the train station. Takao waited, arm out, bent for Midorima to hook his own through it like high school girls. Midorima gawked at Takao’s blatant actions. They were in public, after all, and not in...some dark alley. However, Midorima was beginning to understand that Takao was not often rejected. Finding what Midorima considered an appropriate median, he walked up level to Takao and, with purpose, took hold of Takao’s bent elbow with his hand. He had only pulled Takao for three awkwardly-shuffling steps before Takao’s elbow was yanked out of his hand and Midorima looked back to see Takao crouched over, heaving in silent laughter. Midorima stared, confused.

 

“Haaaa….holy shit….hahaha, oh my god,” Takao finally managed to bark out between huge shudders of what appeared to be painful humor. Midorima stiffened, indignant.

 

“I don’t see what the issue is,” he pushed up his glasses. “You offered your arm and I took it.”

 

Takao tilted his head, looking up at Midorima, tears in the corners of his eyes, making them glisten for one split second. “Remind me to never let you hold a baby,” Takao had that huge smile on his face again, and his eyebrows were drawn together as if he were crying. Takao laughed, loudly, in a sudden burst, then stood up slowly. He wiped an actual tear from his eye, squinting at Midorima. “Oh man. You’re amazing.”

 

Midorima colored red. He felt an equal parts mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. He was about to turn around and leave Takao there for all that mattered, but Takao smiled calmly. It wasn’t the fox smile, it wasn’t the big smile, it was a calm smile, and Takao looked at Midorima calmly, the way that Midorima had seen mothers look at their sonograms in the prenatal unit.

 

“Alright, I won’t make you hold hands or link arms. Even though I can see you really want to.”

 

Midorima sighed. He had not believed that the night would go this way. Takao came up level to him and grinned, nodding his head again towards the train. They walked along in silence for a minute, Midorima reminded of his walks to the station after night shifts. Only, this was distinctly different. He could feel the presence of Takao next to him, as if Takao’s aura were invading his. He subconsciously ran his fingers over the ceramic frog in his pocket.

 

“So,” Takao suddenly started. Midorima glanced at him, wary. “Do you watch movies?”

 

Midorima frowned. “I...have never been much inclined towards cinema.”

 

“How about video games?”

 

“I have never had the time to invest in video games, though I do know several people who are fond of them.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Takao smiled but it fell flat almost instantly. Midorima faltered. Perhaps Takao had taken that the wrong way. Perhaps video games were Takao’s passion and he had somehow insulted him. To the contrary, not ten seconds later, Takao seemed to bounce back.

 

“Then tell me what your hobbies are. What do you do for fun?”

 

“Fun…” Midorima echoed thoughtfully. He spent 85% of his conscious hours at the hospital. He supposed he could say basketball, but that was in the past now. He had also played piano regularly at one point in his life, but not any longer. He figured Takao would want current, relevant information. “I suppose I enjoy listening to the classics.”

 

“Oh! Me too! Like, Tupac, and stuff!”

 

Midorima blinked, relieved to find a simple, common topic that he could navigate. “Tupac…I’m unfamiliar with his work. Was he a Hungarian composer?”

 

For what felt like the seventeenth time that night, Midorima lost Takao to a fit of laughter. Midorima was beginning to get agitated. In fact, he didn’t know why he had stayed as long as he had. He didn’t belong in that bar and even less walking down an empty street at midnight with Takao. Midorima had only ever put up with being mocked by one of his teammates in junior high school, and that was only because he respected that teammate and the necessity to be on decent terms with the other starters on his team. Takao was not a teammate. If pressed, Midorima would admit that the respect he currently had for Takao was nowhere near the level of that he had had for even his most disliked teammate. Midorima wondered if this was what he had overheard the female residents talking of as a “bad date”. If it could even be called that. Two people who were so ill-matched that even a few hours--

 

“Midorima.”

 

Midorima turned to see that Takao had stopped. Behind Takao, Midorima could see the the sign announcing the train station, and he could see the ticket wickets beyond that. Midorima’s eyes focused back on Takao. Silver glinted at him in the dull radiating light of the station. Midorima stared. He and Takao were completely incompatible. Midorima didn’t know what he had expected, meeting Takao again. He had to give his goodbye and depart. He wouldn’t go to the bar again, even if his coworkers begged him.

 

“You get lost in that gorgeous green head a lot, don’t you.”

 

Midorima was quickly and unexpectedly pulled down by two hands that had gripped onto either side of his sweater vest. His vision blurred for a tenth of a second before his mouth hit Takao’s. Midorima felt teeth crash into his unopened lips and a quick tinge of pain. Instead of pulling away, he was pulled forward more by the unrelenting plaited cable knit. Midorima let out a muffled gurgling protest. That seemed to register with Takao. Takao’s lips pulled back a little and Midorima could feel the fullness of them against his. They were thicker and warmer than his. The contrast of them with the slight chill of their surroundings was like someone had dunked his head into a incubator.

 

The too-warm, full lips parted and closed slowly against his, the sensation long and tickling. Midorima had an urge to swat them away, but he found his joints weren’t moving as ordered. Midorima urged his arms to rise and remove Takao’s hands from his sweater vest, but Takao’s wetted top lip caught on Midorima’s dry bottom lip, pulling it slightly, and Midorima’s thoughts were instantly and cleanly interrupted. Takao’s warm tongue licked once over the bottom lip, leaving cool saliva on Midorima’s lip as soon as it was gone. For a split second, everything was still, as if the world had forgotten how to blink. Midorima did not move. Takao did not move. Midorima did not think.

 

And then Takao kissed the cooled lip with both of his, sucking it between them. Then he transferred his attention and licked Midorima’s top lip. Every transmitter in Midorima’s brain seemed to be analyzing the movements of Takao’s tongue. Takao opened his mouth just enough to take Midorima's lip between his teeth. He bit it gently, sucking on it at the same time. Midorima felt a stiffening in his muscles. A convulsion of sorts, without the excessive movement. He twitched slightly when Takao pulled away to give them a moment of breath, and then twitched slightly again when Takao’s mouth pushed forward, covering both of Midorima’s thin lips with his own thick, slightly rough ones and pressing them against his gently.

 

Midorima was sure that hours had passed beforeTakao pulled away far enough so that they were no longer kissing. Midorima was sure that Takao had missed his train. He was also sure that he was ruined.

 

“Sorry, I must have cut you when our teeth hit,” Takao smiled warmly. He leaned forward and licked one last time at the corner of Midorima’s bottom lip. “It looks great on you though,” he whispered and the words brushed against Midorima’s mouth. There was a slight tinge of pain and Midorima felt prickles running down the back of his neck.

 

Takao stepped back and grinned. “I gotta make this train. Let’s do this again.”

 

Midorima watched as Takao turned and jogged for the ticket gate. It was only then that Midorima realized that he was still leaning over slightly. He cleared his throat and stood up straight, glancing around. The only person he could see was an uninterested station worker, looking at a pocketwatch. He watched the station worker for a bit longer, to make sure he hadn’t seen anything, but the man didn’t once look in Midorima’s direction.

 

“Again…” Midorima puzzled. He touched the corner of his lip and it came away with a small spot of blood.

 

“That is extremely unhygienic and dangerous. He needs to be properly educated,” Midorima muttered, walking to the taxi stand. “Incredibly unhygienic,” Midorima repeated as a cab pulled up to the curb five minutes later and he ducked into it. “Extremely dangerous.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

For two weeks, Midorima did not have Friday nights off. Double shifts, both weeks. It didn’t matter either way, because he didn’t plan to go to that bar again. While Takao was certainly… charming, in some aspects of the word, he seemed both irresponsible and unconcerned about time, place, and how other people perceived him. If Midorima ever saw him again, he would tell Takao just that, then dismiss himself expeditiously.

 

For example, if he ran into Takao at the convenience store near the hospital during break, he would tell Takao thank you for the evening but that he would not be partaking in any more of those evenings.

 

If Midorima happened to encounter Takao at Maruyasu while buying a lucky item, he would explain that he had been inebriated, both times he had met Takao, and that he was not a suitable drinking partner for Takao. He was sure Takao would agree.

 

And if, luck failing, Takao were to come to the hospital for care, Midorima would interact with him on a purely professional basis, giving him the best care that was expected of a renowned hospital, and then explain that he was in training to be a doctor, and spending Friday nights drinking at a bar would not be constructive for him. He was sure Takao would agree and leave, well-treated and neutrally content to never see Midorima again. Midorima nodded to himself, satisfied with his solutions to the possible scenarios.

 

Midorima’s lip had healed three or four days after the Incident, with only a slight tightness of the skin. Midorima began moisturizing his lips with an organic balm. It was on a Tuesday night, during break in his second shift, while applying lip blam, that Midorima received a call on his mobile phone. He received the call right as the female resident, who had invited him out drinking before had approached him.

 

“Good evening! On Thursday night, a few of the residents were--”

 

Midorima’s phone blessedly buzzed on the table where it was sitting. Midorima gave a curt “excuse me” and picked up the phone.

 

“Midorima speaking.” The other resident, he noted disdainfully, hadn’t left. She was apparently going to stay to ask him to attend another drinking function. Good, perhaps he could make an excuse after the call.

 

“Midorimacchi!”

 

The immediate wave of regret at having picked up the phone was palatable, like blood on the gonut. But, after years of an unfortunate connection to Kise Ryouta, Midorima was steeled and battle-strong. “Kise,” Midorima said almost calmly.

 

“It’s been so long! Hope you’re doing good. Hey, so, a lot of the Teikou guys are gonna meet up at my place on Thursday night for--”

 

“No.”

 

“You haven’t even heard everything yet!”

 

“This is a party at your residence, so the answer is no.”

 

“Okay but--”

 

The female resident inched into Midorima’s view, smiling at him. Right, she was still there. He had unconsciously turned away, as if attempting to distance himself from the phone, despite having to hold it to his ear.

 

“The last time I was victim to a party at your residence, someone vomited on my gloves and there is still no clue as to who was the culprit.”

 

“Oh, right! That was really funny because--”

 

“No.”

 

Kise let out a long-suffering sigh. The kind only the (self-proclaimed) 'most outgoing, fashion-forward, and arguably normal person in a group eccentrics' could sigh. Midorima despised that sigh. “Akashi.”

 

“...What?”

 

“Akashi’s visiting for a bit. A break from training for family stuff or something,” Kise said with something of a mix of anticipation and worry--like he would be scolded for wrecking the house and holding wild parties while his parents were away.

 

“He said he would try to drop by. You know we're never all around at the same time. Plus, he’d know you skipped out. You can’t _not_ come see Akashi.”

 

Indeed, there were many things that Midorima could chose not to do, but old habits die hard, and Midorima was a creature of habit. Akashi could not be avoided or ignored. And, if he were to be honest, Midorima was slightly curious about Akashi’s current team, which was dominating the NBL of Japan.

 

The resident appeared in his view again—a persistent girl—and Midorima weighed his options.

 

“It’s not anything crazy. I mean, it’s a Thursday night after all. And Kuroko disappears as soon as it hits midnight anyway. Last time I found him sleeping on the chair in my room. I didn’t even realize he was there and it scared the crap out of me,” Kise laughed and Midorima shuddered. “And, anyway, I can’t party every weekend now like I used to. The press always get me with the ripest hangovers and--”

 

Midorima sighed. “Fine. What time should I arrive.”

 

“Yay! Midorimacchi’s coming! I didn’t think you’d actually--”

 

“ _What. Time.”_

 

“8 o’clock! Everyone should be able to get here by then.”

 

“8 o’clock then. I must return to work now. Good bye,” Midorima hung up as quickly and savagely as he could press the button. He looked up blankly at the girl, who had seemed a bit shocked at Midorima’s violence.

 

“Er, so, uh Friday,” she began meekly, for all her persistance.

 

“I’m very sorry. An old friend just called and there’s a reunion gathering of sorts that night.”

 

“Ah, yeah, it sounded like that. Well, meeting old friends is always fun. I hope you have a great night.”

 

With that she left and Midorima was left to finish his red bean soup alone. He pocketed his phone, but not before turning it off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Midorima arrived at Kise’s apartment and rang the doorbell of Kise’s flat at 9:15pm. He grimaced as he did so, both at being late (an emergency at the hospital, therefore inescapable) and because he was already aware of a dull thumping sound of bass coming from behind the heavy steel door. Midorima rang the intercom buzzer and waited. And waited. He steeled himself and grabbed the door handle. Just like Kise, the door was open. Midorima let himself into Kise’s abode, grimacing at the small jumble of sneakers and what looked to be some sort of leopard print oxfords in the entryway. He noted absently that none of those would have been Akashi’s shoes. Midorima set his loafers as far as possible from the others.

 

Midorima made his way through the hallway, heading towards where the music was loudest. It was something unidentifiable with a harsh rhythm, booming yet somehow muffled lyrics, and an indecent amount of the same three saxophone notes.

 

“Kise,” Midorima all but shouted over the song that felt the need to remind listeners that it was being played by DJ DJ DJ PIMPJAMS. Midorima made his way through the huge apartment, He saw Kise's drink come around the corner first, and managed to dodge it.

 

“Midorimacchi! You’re here! Have this drink! I haven’t drank any...probably!”

 

“No, thank you,” Midorima eyed the pink liquid sloshing animatedly in Kise's wobbling arms.

 

“Oh! Is that a present for me?!! A gift for the host! Midorimacchi, I didn’t know you were so considerate! None of the others brought anything. Well, Kuroko brought wine but he’s drinking it alllllll. I’m so touched--”

 

Midorima jerked his hand away as Kise made a drunken grab and teetered. Midorima plunged the small object into his pocket. He hadn't realized he'd been grasping it. “It’s today’s lucky item,” was all Midorima could think to say. It was something that, while he may be mocked for it, his past teammates understood was an essential thing for Midorima.

 

“Then what’s that giant stuffed penguin for,” Kise blinked puppishly.

 

Midorima had faced two car accidents and a man who had somehow managed to get his pet canary stuck in a bodily orifice that day and Midorima had not felt the amount of stress and lack of confidence in any of those situations that he did in this moment. Midorima faced a moment of utter struggle. He could hand over the small porcelain frog in his pocket. It wasn’t his lucky item, it hadn’t been for days, weeks. He could give it to Kise and Kise would probably blabber over it and wander off. It would be simple. Or he could give Kise the 30cm penguin, which would also distract him, but it _was_ the day's lucky item. No doubt handing it over would cause some sort of calamity and Midorima would have to be alert for the rest of the night.

 

Midorima scanned the room in an attempt to count how many empty glasses with bits of pink in them there were. Seven. Seven easily visible. It was irreversible. He’d have to give Kise something.

Somehow, he couldn’t part with the frog. It had made its way into his pants pockets every day for the last two weeks. Midorima didn’t even know if it had even been particularly lucky as a lucky item.

 

“This is your present.” Midorima held out the yellow stuffed penguin to Kise. He would have to be careful. Very careful. Keep away from sharp objects and anything likely to fall.

 

“It matches my eyes” Kise sobbed and, thankfully, wandered into the large room, holding the penguin over his head, proclaiming that everyone needed to look at it Right. Now.

 

There were two other victims there to be assaulted by Kise, having been hidden from perception, probably by the cloud of disdain Midorima felt for Kise. Kise had taken the yellow penguin and paraded it over to the others like a king. Kagami, who had been gesturing wildly, turned and politely complimented Kise on his funny-looking duck. Kise became indignant, then seemed to get a case of the giggles. Kagami watched in confusion. When Kise doubled over, Kagami snatching his drink from him before it spilled everywhere, Midorima’s line of sight widened and he was able to see the profile of the second person, who Kagami had been talking to before.

 

Midorima turned around so quickly, someone very near him let out a small “eh”.

 

“Midorima-kun, you shouldn’t move so quickly. It’s dangerous,” a calm voice said from seemingly nowhere.

 

Midorima would have startled, except he had known Kuroko for the better part of fifteen years and knew to not be surprised. Midorima frowned down at Kuroko, wishing he could place blame on the blood-type-A Aquarius. In truth, Midorima was to blame. He had agreed to come to Kise’s den of god-knows-what (his first error) and he had given away his lucky item (his second error). He was practically inviting accidents to have at him, not to mention a legion of small annoyances.

 

Kuroko looked down at the two drinks he was holding in either hand. They both looked the same but one had a star made out of pineapple on the rim. Kuroko shrugged and held the decorated one out to Midorima.

 

“I made it for Kagami, but he won’t notice if I’m gone a little longer to make another one. Please have this.”

 

“I have an... _aversion_ to pineapple,” Midorima stated awkwardly. He was never good with Kuroko. While he respected Kuroko’s talent and dedication to basketball, he was utterly unsure of how to deal with Kuroko. He could not look down upon him and he could not ignore him. However, fundamentally, he and Kuroko did not get along.

 

Kuroko’s slight show of manners in the midst of a song that kept repeating 'smack my bitch up', however, were welcome. Midorima grudgingly accepted the non-pinapple'd drink Kuroko offered. Midorima wanted to leave, as fast as possible, but he couldn’t very well take his leave immediately after accepting a drink. Midorima stared at the drink bitterly.

 

“It looks like Kagami has made a new friend. A sociable type. He used to play basketball, it seems. Apparently he played for Shuutoku.”

 

Midorima’s eyes flitted to Kuroko’s face, in surprise. When he read nothing there, he glanced quickly to the side, as if the others would be able to hear the discussion, which was, of course, ridiculous. Then again, so were the chances of running into Takao, the man who had orally assisted Midorima to orgasm, at Kise’s place of residence. Midorima regretted giving away his lucky item even more. He looked for somewhere to place his drink.

 

“He was point guard,” Kuroko sipped at his drink through a curling plastic straw. “Our team played them. They were they were one of the Three Kings. I guess that means, if you had kept playing basketball, you would have played with Takao. You should introduce yourself.”

 

“Entirely unnecessary,” Midorima prickled. He would find somewhere to put the drink on the way out. “Well then, please excuse me. It was a pleasure to see you again. I wish you good fortune in your next game.”

 

Kuroko nodded back and “hmm”d through his straw. Midorima turned the corner out of the living room just in time to hear Kise ask Kuroko where he’d gone off to.

 

Walking back down the hall, the music was slightly quieter and Midorima was allowed to focus on getting out of the place as quickly as poss--

 

“Midorimacchi! Where are you going?!” Kise ran up from behind and, in a blocking move he shouldn't have been able to pull off so well drunk, managed to get himself around in front of Midorima.

 

“I’m returning home. I merely stopped by to give greetings.”

 

“But you haven’t even said hi to Kagamicchi, and Aominecchi isn’t even here yet! And Akashichi! He’s not here yet either. Oh! And one of my friends is here. He’s really cool! His name is Takao and he used to--”

 

Midorima pushed up his glasses with one hand, pushed his drink at Kise with the other. Kise blinked down at it and took a sip before continuing.

 

“--play for Shuutoku! He’s really nice and--Midorimacchi, are you okay? You look really red. Aww, are you drunk alre--”

 

“I-I’m going home now. Please remove yourself from my path.”

 

But Kise didn’t move. He stared at Midorima, as if trying to figure out a difficult sudoku puzzle with a brain made of oatmeal. Kise’s expression changed--first confused, then to thinking, then a sudden, growing understanding that Midorima did not like the looks of.

 

“Midorimacchi,” Kise grinned. “Do you already know Takao?”

 

“What? I--Why would I have reason to--”

 

“I mean...you _were_ in the same high school, so it wouldn’t be--”

 

“No! I never met Takao in high school. I don’t even recollect someone with that appearance being there. If he was, I knew nothing of him,” Midorima pushed up his glasses again, and stepped to the side, Kise shadowing him. An even clearer look of understanding showed through Kise’s sub-par intelligence.

 

“You didn’t know him in high school….but you _obviously_ know him somehow. You weren't in the same class, so how? I mean, it’s not like you two hooked up or--”

 

Midorima coughed and attempted to step past Kise to the other side, but Kise flung out an arm, sloshing drink. Midorima had to step back to avoid pink and vodka.

 

“ _Ohhhhhhhh.”_ Kise echoed slower, his face lighting up, splitting into a giant grin. “ _Nooo way!_ ”

 

Kise pounced, both drinks falling to the floor behind him, the plastic of the cups making a clattering sound. Kise put both his hands on Midorima’s shoulders and smiled gapingly at Midorima. It was an expression of joy, surprise, and self-satisfaction. Midorima squirmed, brushing Kise’s hands from himself. He wanted nothing more to be anywhere but there in that instant. “We did not _hook up._ ” Midorima growled through his teeth.

 

Kise ignored him beautifully. _“I get it now!_ So _you’re_ the uptight, un-jolly green giant with beautiful eyes and a tight bod? With hair the color of green leaves and a trunk that he wants to climb? The hopelessly awkward hunk? _You?! Midorimacchi!?”_

 

Midorima’s anxiousness left his body, replaced with confusion, then annoyance. “‘Unjolly-’ what? Who said that?!”

 

He was met with an elbow to the ribs as Kise grinned and spoke in what Midorima supposed was meant to be a whisper but, over the music, was a deafening shout. “I’m totally surprised! I never thought you had it in you! The way Takao described it, I was almost jealous! And I do stuff like that all the time! Still, for it to be Midorimacchi…it’s totally ironic that you guys went to the same school and you didn’t meet until recently, _but man_ , it was _quite_ the meeting, from what I heard, eh?”

 

Midorima stared in horror as Kise _winked_ at him.

 

Midorima was in shock, which was the only viable reason for allowing himself to be pulled back down the hall by Kise. His mind was spinning, his instincts telling him to run.

 

“If I think about it, though, I kinda get it! You’re a cold beauty type and he’s a charmer and--”

 

Midorima’s brain had begun processing everything quickly as if attempting to make up for it’s temporary freeze. It was just as they rounded the corner, back into the living room, that everything was made clear. Kise was friends with Takao. That explained Takao being at Kise’s flat. Takao had gone to the same high school as Midorima, which meant that Takao probably had known who Midorima was all along, and had approached him because of that. If not, he had probably heard through Kise, who would have invariably run his mouth off about all of his junior high school team members at some point. It made sense that Takao was friends with Kise. Their personalities, Midorima realized with dismay, were very similar, though Takao was obviously more intelligent and shrewd if he had managed to form relationships with two of the Generation of Miracles members. Now, they were all at a social gathering where Takao would be able to befriend other members of the Generation of Miracles, and Midorima had allowed Takao to gain an advantage over him from the moment they had met.

 

It was all cunning and shrewd and Midorima would have had to admire the ability and ambition of Takao, except he was currently in shock and disgusted with himself.

 

There was also the fact that Takao had apparently told Kise about their previous...meetings. Midorima paled, then went bright red, at the exact moment that Kise shouted to everyone else in the room,

 

“Hey, guys! Midorimacchi was trying to leave! Let’s get him some drinks!”

 

At which point, all the other eyes turned to look at Midorima. He saw that Murasakibara had appeared, possibly from under the dining bar, with a platter of various snack paraphernalia.

 

“Hi, Midochin,” he munched dutifully through a bag of chips and music. He peered at Midorima with a disinterest different from Kuroko’s. Himuro Tatsuya of the other Hokkaido team appeared from somewhere, materializing behind Murasakibara and brushing crumbs off him. Himura nodded to Midorima.

 

“ _Ack_ , when did Midorima get here,” Kagami said with shock. It was peppered with the subconscious rivalry that Kagami still felt towards Midorima. Midorima didn’t understand Kagami, much in the way he didn’t understand Aomine. They seemed to operate on completely opposite, very simple principles. Kagami, however, had never abandoned his own team or felt disdain towards basketball. Midorima nodded slightly in his direction before beginning to turn slowly away.

 

“Ah, still here? You were caught by Kise, then?” Kuroko echoed from somewhere directly under his nose.

 

And then Kagami was in front of Midorima too, obviously wishing to talk about basketball. Kuroko was at his side, sipping on his curly straw, and Kise followed at Kuroko’s elbow, the ever-dutiful, dull-minded pup. Murasakibara came over, standing behind them all, and raising his chip bags over their heads to offer some to Midorima. Midorima hadn’t felt so assaulted since his first day at the hospital, when all of the female residents had swarmed him.

 

The worst of it, however, was that between the hulking forms of his former teammates, Midorima’s eyes went past them all and directly to the eyes of Takao. The voices around him faded for just a moment as Midorima’s focus went to a singular point. His mind hung suspended for what seemed to be ages. In that time, before the sound came crashing back in, Midorima’s most overwhelming sensation was of utter betrayal.

 

Not because of Kise trapping him there to socialize, or the fact that Kise most likely knew about Midorima receiving fellatio, or the fact that everyone else in the room had seemed to be getting on fine with the man who had performed said fellatio and kissed him _like that_ in front of a train station… No, he felt most betrayed because Takao’s eyes, which had seemed glowing and silver and flashing in the drunken dark, were just an average blue.

 

The thought was sobering. It felt like betrayal, but also like relief. In that moment, Midorima realized he _could_ handle this situation, be mature in regards to it, and still appease his former teammates by socializing (minimally) with them. And the sooner he did that, the sooner he could return home. Perhaps he would play piano for a little while before going to bed. It had been a long time.

 

Midorima pushed up his glasses. He politely declined Murasakibara’s chips, and turned to address Kagami’s questions about shooting. The idea that Kagami may have finally acknowledged the merit of a balanced offense was an intriguing one, and Midorima attempted to direct all of his focus at it.

 

“You used to wrap your fingers and stuff, but like, are the fingertips really that important? I mean, yeah, for direction and spin and all--”

 

“Wow, Kagamicchi, I feel bad for whoever you’re dating.”

 

“--shuttup, Kise-- I’m sure it’s the same as for layups and all that, but--”

 

“Are you really insinuating that a layup and a half-court three-point shot are technically the same? I see you’ve aged but your brain has not,” Midorima couldn’t help but clip.

 

“What did you just--”

 

“Midorima has a point. You should listen, Kagami,” Kuroko said drolly through his drink.

 

“I know, but this cocky--”

 

“If you know, then listen,” Midorima lifted his chin and pushed up his glasses. “As I feel sympathy for Kuroko having to play with you, I will tell you what I can. What you do with the information, of course, I cannot help. The fingertips guide not only direction and dictate the spin of the basketball, but they also measure pressure and allow your arms to adjust power accordingly.”

 

“How the hell do you adjust your arm power with your fingertips.”

 

“What our handsome, bookish friend here means is that it’s really hard to sense how much power you’re using with just your arm muscles. A basketball is relatively light, so it’s really easy to over or underestimate. That’s obvious, right?”

 

Midorima blinked and looked down. Takao had appeared, grinning, at his side.

 

“Well, yeah,” Kagami blinked.

 

“What way does the ball usually spin if it spins when you shoot it, Kagami?”

 

“Er, backwards.”

 

“Yeah, 'cuz it's rolling off your fingers that way. So like, sometimes, depending on distance, and what type of arc you need for the ball, it’s good to make it spin differently, cuz the direction of the spin changes the arc, and depending on the type of arc, you gotta use different levels of power, yeah?”

 

Kagami’s face screwed up in thought, then seemed to loosen immediately with revelation.

 

“I get it! So that’s why you always taped your fingers, huh? To keep ‘em sensitive?”

 

“Well, one of many reasons,” Midorima pushed up his glasses.

 

“Taped fingers… Wait. Taped fingers. Kuroko Tetsuya, Murasakibara Atsushi...” Takao echoed next to Midorima. Suddenly Midorima found himself yanked and pulled and facing Takao.

 

“No way. Holy-- _no way_. You’re _that_ Midorima? The Teiko all-star three-pointer king, shooting guard _Midorima_?”

 

“Was it not thoroughly evident already,” Midorima bristled, wondering if he were being had. Takao’s surprise seemed genuine though.

 

“But--Midorima was a _monster_! A beast! He made _all_ of his in-game shots! Teiko was indomitable! Undefeated! They were savage on the court. Midorima could make half-court shots like—you—“ Takao turned to Kagami and Kuroko for help.

 

“Yeah, I was surprised he was such a nerdy jerk too,” Kagami chimed in. “But he’s good.”

 

“Midorima does indeed have a unique personality for basketball.” Kuroko agreed.

 

Kise, meanwhile, was hiccuping silent chuckles into Kuroko’s shoulder, apparently unable to contain himself.

 

Takao turned back to Midorima, eyes wide. Midorima found himself at a disadvantage. He was used to Kuroko parodying him sometimes--he pretended to ignore it when they had been teammates and Kuroko was an Aquarius after all--but having the others also saw his personality was unsuited to basketball was unforgivable.

 

“I suppose this is why I decided to become a doctor,” Midorima bristled. He could sense Takao stiffen next to him. Midorima nodded curtly, vaguely to everyone. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an early shift tomorrow.”

 

“Ah, Midorimacchi, we didn’t meaaaaan it,” Kise whined boozedly.

 

“Dang, I wanted to ask him more,” Kagami said with a shrug, trading his drink for a gingerale and taking a swig.

 

“Midochin is sensitive,” Midorima heard Murasakibara munch through a mouthful of Pretz as he turned the corner.

 

Midorima sat down at the entrance and laced up his shoes properly, rigid with indignity. Kise didn’t seem to have a shoe horn readily available, so he had to sit down to do it. Probably for the best. Something about sitting and lacing them orderly and quickly made him calm down slightly.

 

“So it’s Shintarou,” a voice said liltingly behind him. Midorima froze where he was sitting. “I was gonna ask you what your first name is the next time we met.”

 

Midorima’s whole body stiffened and his fingers stopped working the shoelaces. From somewhere in the apartment came a muffled wail of “Murasakibaracchi ate all the weineeeeerrrss!”

 

Midorima heard Takao snigger. There was movement and Takao began sitting down next to Midorima. Midorima refocused on lacing his shoes, trying to move more quickly, fumbling.

 

“It’s that bunny-ear under that one,” Takao said helpfully.

 

“I beg your pardon, but I really must go,” Midorima breathed out, finally finishing the bow. A hand firmly landed on his thigh, keeping him there.

 

“Sure. If you give me your Line first.”

 

Midorima glanced at Takao then, frowning.

 

“Line. It’s a messaging app. For smart phones. Basically everyone in Japan uses it?”

 

The frown deepened. “I don’t use many applications,” Midorima said in a way that he hoped implied _and he never would_.

 

Suddenly, the hand that was laying on his thigh slid over and up his pants. Midorima spluttered, as the hand dove into his pants pocket and came out just as swiftly with Midorima’s mobile phone.

 

“What do you think you're--”

 

“Ohhh, you do have a smartphone though. Let’s see….besides email, calendar, and weather... _one_ app? The Asahi Broadcasting Corp app?” Takao peered at Midorima. Midorima turned away, pushing up his glasses.

 

“I use it for Oha Asa.”

 

“Oha Asa...the horoscope thing?”

 

At that, Midorima’s patience, which was large in size but ten times faster to diminish than most, disappeared entirely.

 

“If you’re going to judge a person, perhaps you shouldn’t be removing their phones from inside the pockets of their pants without their approval. Yes, I check Oha Asa every morning. I have since elementary school, and I will continue to do so for the rest of my life. I find its predictions are very accurate and they have aided me many times. Without them, I am often in life-threatening situations. So, if you would...” Midorima held out his hand.

 

“What, seriously? It's that useful? You’re a Cancer? That’s what the screen’s on. Let’s see…rank is 9th today?” Takao’s eyes lit up and he looked as if he was having fun. At Midorima’s expense. Midorima reached out to take the phone and Takao held it far to the side, turning to look at it. “That’s not that good, right? Aren’t there only twelve? Lessee...lucky item? Do you have to, like, use that? Or have it? Today is a stuffed penguin. Wait... Kise had a penguin when you came in with him. Did he take it from you?”

 

“Please return my phone.”

 

“Will you give me your number then?”

 

“This is bordering on harassment.”

 

“Okay, I’ll give it back. You don’t have to give me your number, and I’ll leave you alone forever. But let me ask you one question first, ‘cuz I deserve to know. Why did you ignore me when you came in?”

 

For the first time, Midorima sensed a hint of something besides amusement, surprise, or happiness in Takao. It wasn’t anger. Midorima didn’t know what it was.

 

“I think I can guess, but I wanna hear it from you,” Takao urged, stretching his neck leisurely.

 

Midorima blinked. Had he meant to ignore Takao? Yes, but he had also meant to leave before Takao saw him. Midorima realized that he had made a mistake. Yes, he hadn’t wanted to approach Takao, especially with so many acquaintances around, but he hadn’t wanted to offend or injure Takao’s feelings. Midorima glanced at Takao, pushing up his glasses.

 

“Your eyes are not silver.” Midorima stated.

 

“Uh, of course they aren’t?”

 

“Before, they looked silver. At the bar, on the walk to the train station...in the alley...they seemed silver,” Midorima explained patiently. “Whenever I remembered them, they were always silver. But earlier I realized they’re only blue.”

 

Takao blew a string of hair out of his face. “Okay, I’m going to skip being offended about the ‘only blue’ thing because you just admitted you think about me a lot...but _silver_? Silver eyes? I have black hair and far-above-average good looks. But I'm human. I’m not a superhero or a unicorn, or something, you know.”

 

“Y-yes...of course I know that... But that...that may have been the issue.”

 

Takao stared at Midorima incredulously. “What.”

 

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his cheek on his hand. For a moment, there was only the background noise of Kagami attempting to beat Kise at a video game and obviously losing. Midorima blanked, not sure what he should do next, or even what he wanted to do. A moment before, he wanted nothing more than to be out of that apartment.

 

Takao sighed once more, theatrically heavy this time, and turned a bit to look at Midorima. His angled eyes were even more fox-like (no, Takao’s were more sharp, like a hawk) from the side. “I think I get it. Were you putting me on a pedestal because I made you hot and bothered? Did I have to be an inhuman beauty for you to rationalize wanting me?”

 

Takao moved closer, batting his eyes in a way that was cartoonishly seducing. “Is that it? I’ve been told I’m hot, really hot, but not _silver-eye_ -level-hot. So. You couldn’t understand how a person like you—tall, gorgeous, athletic, smart, focused, successful—could fall for a guy like me?”

 

“I-I have not ‘fallen’ for you. And I have never said that you are below me.”

 

“So you only met up again with me that second time ‘cuz you thought you could have some fun? Get your stick licked again? Your rod bobbed? I mean, I’m totally fine with that, I’m all for it, I just _really_ don’t appreciate people pretending like they don’t know me.”

 

“I would never approach you expecting that.” Midorima clenched his fists. He could feel his face contorting. He could feel a cold ache in the bottom of his stomach. He stood up swiftly, pushing up his glasses and glaring down at Takao. “If you believe that, you have colossally, and dare I say very unfairly, misjudged my intentions.”

 

Takao blinked, leaning back so he could look at Midorima.

 

“I recognize we are made of very different stuff, and that you have a personality I never could,” Midorima continued, feeling his indignation well up, “Tonight, when I saw you for the third time, I realized that you are merely human,” Midorima swallowed, looking away, “And that fact was shocking to me only because you are absolutely _haunting._ ”

 

Takao looked up and Midorima glanced back at him, his eyes catching there. A few breaths passed between them silently. Takao stood up slowly, to meet Midorima.

 

Slowly, he raised a hand. Midorima flinched. The hand reached up and awkwardly pulled Midorima’s glasses off of his face. They caught for a moment behind the right ear, but Takao was patient. When they were gone, Midorima’s view of Takao was blurred. He couldn’t see the individual strands of hair hanging in Takao’s face or the fine laugh lines that had already formed at the corners of Takao’s eyes.

 

“You know,” Takao said surprisingly gently, “you really are a looker. Your eyes aren’t like emeralds or anything, but you're still A-1 level, finger-licking, boxer-ruining sexy. Even if you couldn’t romance a doorknob.”

 

Midorima tilted his head suspiciously, wondering what door hardware had to do with anything.

 

“So,” Takao held up Midorima's glasses, peering through them, “I suppose I can let you off this time. If only ‘cuz I’m pretty sure no one has ever told me I was _haunting_ before. And if they have, it definitely didn’t make me as hard as I am now.”

 

Midorima choked on his own saliva. He stared, wide-eyed at Takao, forcing his eyes to remain on Takao's face. Takao smiled innocently and slid Midorima's glasses back on. His fingertips brushed Midorima's ears as he did and they felt hot.Takao reached out to close his hand around Midorima's wrist.

 

“How about you stay a little longer? We don’t have to hang out with everyone,” Takao held up Midorima's phone, “but I do want to know more about the Oha Asa lucky item thing, and seeing as I don’t have your number, I can’t really call you about it.”

 

Midorima stared down at Takao, who stared right back at him, unwavering. Midorima wondered what he _had_ expected when he’d gone to meet Takao the second time. Takao smiled and Midorima paused for a second before pushing the phone away, back into Takao’s hand.

 

From the other room, midorima heard Kagami sloppily tell everyone to get up because it was time to slam now.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Midorima stepped, for the sixth time that day, on a dry macaroni noodle. It crunched beneath his foot and he lifted his clipboard up to scowl at it. Several nurses were out with influenza in the children’s ward and Midorima had been asked to help cover along with two other residents. Midorima was surprised he hadn’t been asked before. Children were vectors for bacteria and viruses. Even with preventative measures, it was a wonder the nurses weren't sick more often. Not that he minded. Midorima, on the whole, was not fond of children. He didn’t dislike them, but the only child he had ever found pleasure in being around was his sister, and she was an exceptional child.

 

He was, however, a dedicated worker, and he approached adolescent patients with the same professionalism as he did adults. First up was a girl with a thoroughly shattered leg from a BMX accident. The girl would be in the hospital for a few days, the cast up to her thigh. Midorima gave her parents pointers for necessary care and warned the girl to be more careful in her biking escapades. The girl wouldn’t stop staring at him and listened quietly until he turned to leave, at which time she asked him blatantly if that was his real hair color. Midorima made his way to his next patient--a boy who had had his appendix removed. Midorima checked his monitors and was asked, rudely, to call the kitchen for almond pudding because the boy didn't like the caramel. Third was a young child staying overnight with a high fever. Fourth, a boy with a broken clavicle. The boy hissed and groaned a lot. He was lucky he hadn’t gotten worse, skateboarding down a hill with no helmet on. The boy cursed Midorima under his breath as Midorima left. Midorima knocked and entered the next patient’s room. The patient was a girl of six years, she had been admitted for--

 

_Crunch._

 

Macaroni? Midorima looked down to see macaroni strewn all over the room’s floor. As there were no other patients in that room at the moment, the Macaroni had to come from his. Midorima marched across the floor, managing to only crunch one more macaroni before pulling the curtain back to reveal a young girl sitting up in bed. There was an untouched hospital tray pushed to the side on her bed and she was flicking dried macaroni noodles over a piece of construction paper in a disdainful, bored way the likes of which he had only ever seen Aomine manage.

 

The girl sat back against her pillow and stared at the very small collection of food-color dyed noodles left in front of her. The TV was on a sports channel, the volume as high as it was allowed to go in the hospital.

 

“Hello, Miss Kawamura. I'm Doctor Midorima. May I turn down the television volume?”

 

The girl flicked another noodle, sending it over the side of her bed. Midorima saw the remote on her bedside stand and picked it up, muting it.

 

“Hello, Miss Kawamura.”

 

“Akemi.”

 

“Akemi then. Akemi is a nice name,” Midorima gritted through his teeth as she accurately launched a dried noodle down the center of the paper.

 

“Akemi, it says here you haven't eaten your lunch. You need to eat your lunch to become healthy again. I see that you didn't eat breakfast either.”

 

The girl turned and stared at the curtain on the other side of her bed, flicking one last macaroni, this time through a goal post she made with her other hand.

 

Midorima rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He was annoyed, and concerned for her, but he wasn't without experience with young girls. He did have a sister after all. Midorima moved closer.

 

“Akemi, I want to make you healthy. I want you to get better. You want to leave the hospital, right?”

 

Akemi stared at the construction paper and the untouched bottle of glue.

 

“Do you like macaroni?”

 

Silence.

 

“Do you like crafts?”

 

Akemi turned and looked Midorima straight in the face, the level of blankness only comparable to what Midorima had seen on Kuroko's. She locked eyes with him for no less than ten seconds. Midorima blinked first. She turned her head back to the construction paper, reached out, and pushed the remaining macaroni around, arranging them. Then she looked back at Midorima, pointedly.

 

He glanced at the girl but she had folded her arms and was looking at the other curtain again.Midorima leaned over the paper. The macaroni on it had been arranged. Midorima stood back to see the image. The macaroni spelled “stupid”.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Midorima dreamed silver eyes staring up at him. There was a wide, handsome mouth under the eyes and it was moving, saying something.

 

“What?” Midorima couldn't understand.

 

The mouth moved again and Midorima strained to hear the muttering.

 

“I can't hear you,” Midorima needed to know what the person was saying.

 

But then the eyes were moving away, the voice going with it. The person was being pulled back into the darkness, their black hair melting into it. No, they were leaving.

 

“What were you saying?!” Midorima called after him.

 

“Stupid,” echoed loudly around him in the darkness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Midorima leaned back in the chair. He frowned as he sipped from his can of red bean soup. It was already lukewarm. His pocket vibrated and he pulled out his cellphone. He nearly choked on a bean when his screen lit up with “Silver-Eyed Sex Savant - 1 message”. It alarmed him to realize his heartrate had increased slightly, and only partially from hacking on a red bean. He would have to change his contact entry for Takao. Midorima sighed and opened the phone to read:

 

_Hey drunk hunk, how's it hanging?_

 

Midorima frowned. He did not have to dignify that with a response. He, did, however, feel inclined to correct Takao.

 

_I' am rarely ever drunk. I'm at work._

 

_ok I'll drink for you. How's work?_

 

_I'm assigned to the children's ward today._

 

_Oh god You? With children?_

 

Midorima frowned at his phone, huffing slightly.

 

_I'll have you know that I am considered a very skilled resident and many of my patients recover quickly and have expressed considerable gratitude._

 

_Honking your own horn? Do that at home when you're alone. record it and let me watch. really tho, how is it? kids can be hard_

 

Midorima sighed and drained the rest of his soup. He eyed the phone screen and sighed again.

 

_To be honest, there is one patient who is concerning me. She won't speak to me, and she hasn't eaten meals for two days. We'll have to put her on IV if she won't eat dinner._

 

_He parents aren't around? Did you chat with her? Figure out what she likes?_

 

_I tried. The only thing I can assume is she doesn't like dried macaroni._

 

_Pfft I won't ask. what's your lucky item today?_

 

Midorima stared at his phone. If Takao was suggesting he give his lucky item to the girl...well, the girl was in no immediate danger, and Midorima was rather fond of this particular item.

 

_A stuffed frog pupet._

 

_Perfect! Use that to talk to her! Kids dig puppets_

 

_I don't believe that will work. She seems to be particularly intelligent for her age._

 

_Smart kids are still kids. Kids have way more creativity and humor than adults and they need to use it. plus everyone likes a little fun. especially when they're sick or stuck somewhere lame._

 

_The workplace is not lame._

 

_You're right I bet it's really sexy right now cuz you're inside it._

 

_Takao! We're talking about a child._

 

_Ah I thought we'd moved on cuz... think I need medical attention. I've got this problem. See, I think I might have situational elephantitus. It mostly happens when I think about you in a white coat. I get really bad swelling._

 

_Takao._

 

_...in my dick._

 

_TAKAO_

 

 _it_ could _be a case of cearula testiculis though. you'll have to tell me you're the professional_

 

_Takao, I will never speak to you again._

 

Midorima put his phone down slowly and stared at it, confused and annoyed. Takao Kazunari confused him. The phone buzzed suggestively at him again and lit up.

 

_Seriously though, can't hurt to try the puppet. Maybe get someone else to use it..._

 

 _That's unnecessary. I'm perfectly capable of entertaining a child._ Midorima responded begrudingly.

 

_Okie dokie. Lemmee know how it goes! Message if you need help Keep up the good work~_

 

Midorima took the frog puppet from the pocket it was hanging out of in his coat. He had insured the other nurses that everything he brought into the hospital had been sanitized. The frog flopped dismissively at him. He thought of the smaller, porceline frog that was tucked safely into his pants pocket. Takao had said it couldn't hurt to try. Midorima's personal motto meant that, if there was something he could do, he would do it. More than a motto, it was his work ethic.

 

Midorima pushed up his glasses and slid his hand into the puppet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hello, Akemi,” Midorima squeaked in a super high voice.

 

Akemi stared at him blankly. Midorima could feel his face heating up. He cleared his throat, the puppet’s mouth hanging open.

 

“I heard you don’t like macaroni,” Midorima spoke through the puppet, opting for his normal vocal tone. Midorima paused, thinking of what he should say--how he should say it. He heard Takao’s loud, honest laughter in his head. How would Takao speak to Akemi? He turned the puppet left and right as if it were looking at the scattered macaroni. “I don’t--er, me neither. As a food it’s not even that great, but it’s horrible for a craft project.”

 

Akemi raised an eyebrow.

 

“You like crafts though? You like to make things?”

 

Akemi shifted slightly, eyeing Midorima and the puppet warily.

 

“I prefer music. But I think art and crafts are... _cool_...too. I played piano in high school you know, but I liked watercoloring too.”

 

Akemi leaned back against her bed, watching. “A frog puppet played piano?”

 

Midorima paused for a moment, thinking as quickly as he could. Takao’s mischievous grin popped into his head. He pushed up his glasses “Well, I wasn’t very good at it,” he mimed through the frog. “You probably think that's because my hands are tiny. They're small, but that wasn't the problem. Surprisingly, it is difficult to play piano when you don't have five fingers,” he waved the small fabric limbs as morosely as he could. “That’s why I’m a doctor now.”

 

Akemi cracked. She giggled, just a little, an eyebrow rising. “A frog doctor?”

 

“Well,” Midorima said, seizing the chance, slid a chair near her bed and sat down, hand in puppet, “I suppose it was fate…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you believe in Fate?”

 

Takao turned so quickly, he nearly spat out his bite of ice cream. He coughed once and then grinned. “I nearly fertilized the lawn there. What do you mean? Like, God?”

 

It was a very rare Saturday that Midorima had gotten off from work. It had taken him three hours of practice and debating what to say before he had gotten fed up and just called Takao to ask to meet.

 

When Takao had picked up the phone, there was low music playing in the background and Midorima could hear someone else chatting before Takao said, “Hey! It’s Doctor Feelgood~ How did it go with that tough little patient?”

 

Midorima was overwhelmed for a second. He cleared his throat. “About that, it seems I have to thank you. I--”

 

“Takaocchi!! What about the leopard print thong?? Plain or gold??,” someone suddenly hollered in the background.

 

“One sec,” Takao told Midorima. “ _They’d both look great on your ass!_ ”

 

“ _Thanks, babe!”_

 

“Okay, you there?”

 

Midorima’s thought process had frozen. The gears were shaking and shuttering, attempting to start up again. “Was...was that _Kise?_ ”

 

“Ah, yeah, he asked me to go shopping with him. He’s going out tonight. A date with some DJ or something.”

 

“Y-you’re buying… _undergarmets_ together?!”

 

“What? I didn’t hear you.”

 

Midorima had the sudden realization that what he was trying to do was ridiculous and that he was being ridiculous for trying to do so and for thinking that--

 

“Midorima? Are you there? What did you want?”

 

“ _Takaocchi, is the zipper on the front too much?”_

 

“Naw, it’s all you.”

 

“Nevermind. I should get back,” Midorima interrupted.

 

“You’re not at work though,” Takao retorted. “I’m listening now, promise.”

 

“No, I need to go. I--”

 

“ _Shintarou._ ”

 

If Midorima had been walking, he would have stopped in his tracks. If he had been standing, he may have fallen down. Midorima felt the blood rush to his ears as if trying to hear that word again and then drain out, quickly, leaving him dizzy.

 

“I...merely wanted to take you to get tea...as a thank-you for your advice.”

 

“Today? Well….”

 

Midorima knew what was coming. Takao was obviously busy...and with _Kise_ of all people. It was best to quit now before.

 

“....I’m not actually much of a tea person, but I do like coffee. Or ice cream. I love ice cream,” Takao’s chipper voice rang through the phone.

 

“I--I see,” Midorima pushed up his glasses on the other side of the phone. “I happen to know a crepe stand in a park that has hand-made ice cream. Their red bean is quite notable.”

 

“Woaaah, that sounds great! The weather’s awesome today too! Can I meet you in, like, an hour? Gotta finish helping Kise.”

 

“ _Takaocchiiiiii! Who are you--woah, is that Midorimacchi?!! No way.”_

 

“I’ll see you then,” Midorima said, hanging up before anymore of Kise’s voice could reach him. He knew he would be suffering enough as it was, with Kise knowing Takao was going to meet up with him.

 

He wasn’t wrong. Not ten minutes later, Midorima received a text from Kise with only: _the park?? Really??! That’s so midorimacchi. Just remember not to use the swings in front of the children!_

 

Midorima didn’t reply, instead going to take his light-weight wool cardigan and a scarf appropriate for that day from the wardrobe.

 

Midorima had insisted he hadn’t been waiting long when Takao arrived. Takao had stared at his hands and ears and just smiled and asked about the crepe place.

 

“As I said, your idea was successful. I had to give my puppet to her the next day, but she has began eating. I thank you for recommending it to me,” Midorima started the conversation matter-of-factly.

 

“No problem! Glad it worked. Kids are kids in the end. More importantly...not to dog on your style or anything but I can’t help noticing that neon pink scarf doesn’t quite match the vampire professor thing the rest of your outfit is going for…”

 

“ _'Vampire professor'_ ,” Midorima spluttered.

 

“Yeah, cuz you dress like a young person who’s actually an old man, with all the sweater knit stuff or whatever. Not that I’m complaining. It actually really works for you somehow? I’d definitely join your seminar just to stare at your ass in those corduroys. Anyway, the scarf?”

 

“It’s today’s lucky color and my lucky item is a scarf.”

 

“Oh,” Takao cleared his throat, “two birds with one stone then.” They got to the truck and Midorima let Takao order and then placed his usual order. “So, you’re really into that, huh? Last time it was that stuffed animal at Kise's place…do you really follow it every day? Even at work?”

 

Midorima took the two crepes from the man in the truck and handed Takao’s over. Midorima sighed. He hated explaining himself to others and usually just ignored their stares and whispers, but Takao didn’t seem to have any ill-will or find it odd. He seemed...genuinely interested.

 

“Mwow dis is really good,” Takao mumbled through whipped cream and crepe.

 

“Do you believe in fate,” Midorima pushed up his glasses.

 

Takao spluttered. “Like, God?”

 

“Not necessarily. Preordained paths that you can follow or vear from. Cosmic significance.”

 

“Are you asking me to be your cosmic significant other?”

 

Midorima blushed and frowned. “ _I’m not joking_. I would like to know if--”

 

“Then, no. I don’t believe in fate. Or luck. Everything is a reaction to something and a cause to something else. I think what you think of as luck and fate are hard work and circumstances and the results of both of those and timing. For example, I think the reason you were so good at basketball is because you worked really hard. And the reason you’re a good doctor is because you work hard and do your best. You have very tight control over what you can in your little piece of the world, and the rest of the world spins around it, sometimes bumping into it, sometimes crashing, sometimes shoving a knife in it. But, I also think that if it makes you comfortable to believe in Fate and Luck, and if it gives you rules to live your life by and makes you feel less anxiety or stress, if you really believe in it, then it’s real. And that’s why I got you this neon pink stuffed armadillo today.”

 

Midorima was so taken aback, trying to process the sudden flash of sharp intelligent conversation that Takao had casually thrown at him, that he only barely registered watching Takao dig into his bag and, only when Takao had physically taken Midorima’s crepe from him and placed the neon pink stuffed armadillo in his free hands did Midorima register the weight of what had taken place. Midorima looked down at the neon pink armored, placental mammal in his hands. He blinked several times.

 

“Er--well, you said you got the lucky item every day and I couldn’t find a neon pink scarf, but I found that and I thought one out of two wasn’t….are you okay?” Takao had had a lopsided smile on and it had changed to something like unease and then worry.

 

“I...I’m unsure… I feel slightly faint. My pulse is spiking and my mouth is dry.”

 

“Woah! C’mon, let’s get you over to that bench and I’ll go get you a water.”

 

Takao grabbed Midorima's arm, and pulled him over to a bench under a tree. He peered into Midorima's face once before saying he'd be right back. Midorima watched him job off foggily, still feeling the imprint of fingers on his bicep. Midorima hung his head, listening to the blood pump through his ears. He felt blank and yet entirely overwhelmed. The image of Takao smiling and putting the armadillo in his hands was flashing in red and orange behind his eyelids. He gripped the armadillo in his hands. It was squishy but the furry bits poked at him from between the shiny armored parts. It was, indeed, neon pink, and had giant purple eyes set in its long head that stared up at him pleadingly.

 

“Takao,” Midorima said weakly, “what is your sign?”

 

“Huh? I'm a Scorpio...”

 

Midorima felt his heart beat a single, thundrous beat, and he nearly threw the armadillo on the ground.

 

“Hey, I got water. Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance or something? One of your doctor friends?”

 

A bottle of water appeared before Midorima's face and he felt Takao sit down on the bench next to him. Midorima took the bottle and a big breath and sat back to take a long, cold pull from it.

 

“...You doing okay? You looked super pale there for a minute.”

 

“Y-yes, I think I'm recovered. Thank you for the water.”

 

“Nope.”

 

Midorima finally looked at Takao, who was turned towards him, legs folded up on the bench, one arm draped over the back of it.

 

“Now you owe me for the water and for scaring the shit out of me on our date.”

 

Midorima's hands felt hot. “O-our date?! I mean--”

 

“Which means you'll have to take me on another one to make up for it,” Takao grinned, and bit into Midorima's crepe which he somehow was still holding. “Especially after nearly fainting at the sight of my present for you. I mean I know it was weird but...”

 

“It wasn't that! I...thank you for the armadillo. It was unnecessary.”

 

“Unnecessary?”

 

“Yes, you didn't have to bring a present. There was no reason to. So, thank you.”

 

Takao stared at Midorima, a soft, amused stare that still managed to make Midorima think he was being evaluated and measured. It was those eyes....

 

“Well,” Takao suddenly clapped. “I have a great idea.”

 

“Oh?” Midorima said weakly.

 

“Yeah! I don't have plans for dinner. I can waive the next date and call it even. _If_ you make me dinner tonight.”

 

Midorima was an excellent resident at his hospital, technically and practically. He had memorized the hospital's guidelines and handbook down to the commas and periods. He performed his duties quickly and well at work. At home he kept a simply-decorated apartment so that even if it had clothing thrown on the floor, it still appeared fairly clean and neat. He was an advanced-level pianist and a more than decent shogi player. He had also attained some crafting skills over the years due to necessity in regards to lucky items and was capable of simple crochet, needlepoint, craft painting, and sculpting. Midorima was not, however, nor had ever been, good with food. His family had called his talent in the kitchen abyssmal at best, fatal at worst.

 

Midorima panicked.

 

“I... need to use the facilities. I'll be back in a moment.”

 

“Huh? Oh, okay.”

 

Midorima didn't wait to see the look on Takao's face. All he could think in his mind was that he could not, by any means, invite Takao over to dinner at his apartment. Midorima had much confidence in himself and his abilities, and knew that anything could usually be improved with hard work, but he had opted to devote his hard work and time to things other than cooking and was not egotistical enough to believe he could make something that would impress Takao.

 

Midorima walked as quickly as he could without jogging to the nearest restroom. He ducked into the public building, ignoring the dirty concrete floor, the sinks with dead bugs in them, and the subtle stench, pulling out his cell phone.

 

Who could he call? Kise would know all of the popular restaurants and would be able to put him on reservation lists, but he'd rather die of cardiac arrest than be in debt to Kise. Aomine was useless. Midorima was pretty sure Aomine ordered in every night if he wasn't drinking with large-bossomed women. Maybe Midorima could order in. No, that meant Takao would see his apartment, and the cleaning lady was coming tomorrow which meant it had gone a whole two weeks without a proper clean. Akashi would know a good Japanese cuisine....no. Kuroko then. Midorima reluctantly dialed the number, hoping Kuroko was not at practice or training.

 

“Hello, Midorima,” a quiet, calm voice answered.

 

“Hello, Kuroko. Pardon the disruption, but I would like to know if you know any exquisite restaurants with an informal dress code.”

 

“...I'm going to hang up.”

 

“Wait! I—I mean, please don't. I will be in your debt.”

 

“...is this for Takao?”

 

“How did you--? Kise... I will maim him.”

 

“I don't really go to 'exquisite' restaurants, but there's a pretty nice sushi place called Kaisei.”

 

Midorima dug around in his pockets and pulled out a pen, taking down the address hurredly.

 

“Have a nice time,” Kuroko said cooly.

 

“Thank you very much,” Midorima muttered begrudgingly and hung up.

 

Midorima pushed up his glasses and headed out the bathroom.

 

“Hey~”

 

Midorima startled so badly that his glasses bounced on the bridge of his nose.

 

“T-Takao.”

 

“You took a long time. I was afraid you fell in.”

 

“Ah...I was just--”

 

“Y'know, it's totally cool if you don't want me at your place. I get it. You don't know much about me. And I don't know much about you. You could be a serial killer out to skin me and wear me. I _am_ pretty beautiful. Or you could just be after my dick. It's pretty beautiful too—hmm, maybe it's a bad idea for me to go to your house after all.”

 

“Yes—I mean, no. It's....”

 

Takao crossed his arms, grinning, leaning against the outside wall of the restroom.

 

“...I'm not a serial killer,” Midorima cleared his throat.

 

“Then it's my beautiful--”

 

“AND! I'm not after your....your reproductive organs.”

 

“Well that's unfortunate.”

 

Midorima coughed.

 

“So you're saying you like me for my shining personality? Your face is getting awfully red there, Shintarou.”

 

“Look, I—would like to take you out to dinner.”

 

“Not really the same sentiment as getting a home-cooked meal, but--”

 

“I DON'T KNOW HOW TO COOK,” Midorima snapped, his hands waving at the air around his head.

 

Takao blinked. “...I was gonna say I'd be fine with dinner out, but... _really?_ Not at all?”

 

“Well, of course I can make something like curry or,”

 

“Curry from a box?”

 

“--yes--or tomato pasta.”

 

“Sauce from a can?”

 

“...yes... I acknowledge my culinary skills are lacking, but I have no designs to be a gourmet chef,” Midorima bristled.

 

Takao skipped forward, hooking his arm around Midorima's and grinning up at him.

 

“In that case, I humbly accept your offer of delicious homemade curry...from a box. I look forward to it,” Takao said with feigned solemnity.

 

Midorima gawked down at Takao. How had the situation gone from him excusing himself to the bathroom to surreptitiously call Kuroko for aid because he felt he could not adequately cook for Takao...to him most definitely cooking for Takao? How had it come back around to him doing exactly what he had wanted to avoid? Midorima felt his stomach dive into a bungee jump and never come back up. He didn't like how he felt weak against Takao. How he felt like, no matter the circumstances or location, Takao was always able to control the situation. Midorima turned as Takao steered him back towards the bench, glancing at Takao, who was beaming next to him. For a split second, Midorima thought perhaps relinquishing control wouldn't be so bad.

 

“But we're totally gonna suck face after, right?”

 

Midorima tripped over his own feet.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Midorima made Takao wait in the entryway when they got to his flat. Midorima rushed in and scooped up scrubs that hadn't completely made it into the laudry hamper. He threw two empty vitamin sumplement drink bottles into the recycling bin and...realized the rest of his apartment looked completely clean. For the first time, he realized it looked unlived in. But clean. Good for now. Midorima returned to the entryway to find a bored Takao fiddling with the decorative vase on top of the shoe cupboard.Takao perked up as soon as he saw Midorima.

 

“This vase is...quite something. Is it...Grecco-Roman style,” he turned it over in his hands.

 

“Abstract Grecco-Roman, yes.”

 

“And that's...a rainbow octopus on there?”

 

“That's the god Neptune and a dolphin.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“It was a lucky item--”

 

“Oh, thank god.”

 

“--that I liked, so I kept it around.”

 

“Ah, shit.”

 

They both stared at the vase in silence, Midorima pushing up his glasses and Takao carefully setting the vase back on the shoe cabinet.

 

“...the colors are nice,” Takao said in a strained way that Midorima didn't quite get the meaning of.

 

“...thank you. You can put your shoes in the cupboard.”

 

“Oh! Cool, thanks,” Takao slipped his shoes off and stepped up into the room then slid his shoes into the cupboard. He popped up and spun around to grin at Midorima, his momentarily strange attitude gone.

 

“So! Food! I am highly anticipating your exquisite box curry from Ristorante Midorima (5-star michelin rated).”

 

Midorima didn't know what to say to that so he said nothing, heading to the kitchen without waiting for Takao to follow. He somehow knew Takao would come trotting along behind him.

 

Midorima nodded at the stool at the kitchen bar and Takao took a seat, swinging his legs cheerfully. Midorima went to the refrigerator to take out ingredients, then a cupboard which Takao could never dream of being able to reach, for the potatoes and curry. Midorima could feel Takao's eyes on him, following him around the modest kitchen like a cat chasing a laser point.

 

“So you live alone?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Kinda figured. Pets? I like animals.”

 

“It would be irresponsible of me to keep a pet, as I'm rarely home.”

 

“Huh. Dogs or cats?”

 

“Are you asking my preference?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“They both have admirable traits, but if pressured, I'd suppose I prefer dogs. Cats can be...aggressive.”

 

“Huh. Interesting.”

 

“What is,” Midorima asked, taking the cutting board from it's spot against the backsplash on the counter and laying it flat, trying not to let himself feel the strange energy that was starting to prickle his skin. He couldn't name the feeling—anxiety, perhaps, but that would be silly.

 

“No, it's just—kinda pegged you as a cat person. But yeah, like you said, they both have good points. Plus, it's not like you can rope all dogs and all cats into the same group. They all have different personalities, yeah? It's like saying all types of ramen taste the same because it's all ramen noodles, but it can have pork stock or miso stock, and the stuff on top can be different. Yeah, it has the noodles, but everything else that makes it a dish is different. Though the noodles can be different too I guess. Well, you get what I mean.”

 

“...An...original comparison, but accurate, I suppose.”

 

“I can compare anything to food. I could compare you to food. I like eating.”

 

Midorima really wasn't sure what to do with that information. In fact, it felt like half of the things Takao said to him were completely meaningless or of no consequence. Midorima wondered why listening to Takao blabber on didn't annoy him in any way close to how listening to Kise or the other residents at the hospital did. Takao's rambling was almost comfortable, even if his tendancy to laugh loudly or snigger wasn't.

 

Midorima had finished washing the potatos. “I would rather not be compared to something that people consume.”

 

“That's a shame, because I'd happily eat you any day.”

 

Midorima cleared his throat loudly, opening a cabinet.

 

“....what is that,” Takao asked, his voice half wonder, half amusement.”

 

“I'd rather not dirty my clothing while cooking.”

 

“You're wearing an apron,” Takao remarked, then in a whisper “holy shit.”

 

Midorima turned away and started to cut the potatoes into cubes, suddenly embarrassed by activities that were every-day to him, and annoyed by that fact. Why should he be embarrassed by something that was perfectly normal? Takao was out of place, making rude comments while being the guest at another person's house.

 

Midorima nearly dropped his knife when two hands cupped his hips from behind. He would have dropped it if his hand hadn't immediately spasmed, grasping the knife tightly.

 

“W-what are you--” Midorima spun around, and Takao jumped back with a yelp.

 

“Woah! Watch where you point that thing!”

 

Midorima looked down at the knife then lowered it immediately.

 

“What would you expect, attacking me from behind.”

 

“Dude, I wasn't attacking you.”

 

“Then what was,” Midorima waved the knife weakly at Takao's hands. “ _that_.”

 

“Uh...I don't know, honestly. I guess I was thrown by the apron service. Got ahead of myself.”

 

“It. Is. Not. Service.”

 

“Alright, alright. Can I help you somehow? As much as I like staring at your backside, it feels weird to sit around and wait to be fed.”

 

“...you can assist in chopping the carrots and apples.”

 

“Apples? You like sweet curry?”

 

“Is that an issue?”

 

Takao took the knife from Midorima, grinning in a way Midorima didn't like. “Naw, I'm fine with sweet or spicy.”

 

Midorima frowned and turned away to get a second knife and smaller cutting board. Takao washed an apple and cut it, glancing at Midorima before peeling the skin off. Midorima did his best to not look in Takao's direction. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt compromised. On edge. Next to him, Takao peacefully moved on to the carrots, and, only slightly startling Midorima, began to hum a quick-paced tune that Midorima didn't recognize. Midorima finished cutting the potatos, the entire right side of his body seeming to buzz with electricity from the close proximity of Takao. It was like Midorima could feel heat radiating off of Takao. Midorima discreetly glanced over to see Takao smiling warmly at the carrots.

 

“...What is that you're humming?”

 

“Huh?” Takao stopped, blinking at Midorima. “Oh. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”

 

“What?”

 

“Cindy Lauper. An 80's classic.”

 

“...I see,” Midorima said. He didn't see.

 

Takao, however, had seemed to take Midorima's inquiry as an invitation to educate Midorima, and started belting out English lyrics in a falseto voice that Midorima was, quite frankly, shocked to hear come out of Takao. Takao had an odd voice. Slightly nasally, yet shockingly deep at seemingly random moments. Whoever Cindy Lauper was, she did not showcase Takao's vocal range well.

 

“Takao.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Midorima had said it without meaning to. In fact, it had slipped out so naturally, that it took the asbscence of chopping noises combined with Takao staring at him with eyes the size of the carrots pieces he had been cutting before Midorima realized what had happened.

 

“I'm sorry, I--”

 

“PFFFT. HAHAHAHAHA,” Takao doubled over, and Midorima had to scramble to take the knife out of his hands so that Takao would not impale himself. It wasn't the sly laughter he had heard before. It was belly-deep, rolling laughter that seemed to erupt out of Takao in fast intervals. Midorima's momentary concern dissipated and changed form, first into a vague relief, then into annoyance, as Takao carried on for another solid minute.

 

“Takao.”

 

“Hahahahah....hoooo boy...hahaha.”

 

“Takao!”

 

“Oh man hahaha...your face...hahaha.”

 

Having had enough of that, Midorima finally reached down, pulling Takao upright. Takao went with the momentum, laughing his way right into Midorima's mouth, where he promptly kissed Midorima, full on the lips. Midorima felt the sudden pressure and warmth, his vision blocked by the closeness. A quick lick came after, and then Takao was turning back to the counter, still chuckling, and picking up his knife. The air around Midorima had grown warm and then cool again in an instant.

 

Midorima stared at Takao’s profile, abashed. Takao cut into the last carrot, looking ridiculously proud of himself. Midorima felt his eyebrows draw down. He was beginning to realize that Takao Kazunari was the closest thing to an unstoppable force he had ever encountered. Midorima felt tense. He realized it for what it was—the anxiety that came with the fact that he could not predict or navigate his way around Takao. Takao was not a safe acquaintance. Yet, it would be rude to send Takao away after all this, and cutting all ties immediately could potentially cause issues, for example, if Takao were to show up at his workplace. Midorima would have to be as gracious of a host as the situation dictated, and then he would be done of Takao. No more feeling confused or anxious or embarrassed. No more attempting to read the other to gauge intent.

 

“Shintarou.”

 

“Yes,” Midorima snapped out of his thoughts.

 

“Relax.”

 

Midorima stared at Takao, who reached in front of him and took the last potato that Midorima had been looking at for who knows how long. The water on the stove was already boiling. Takao scraped the ingredients from his cutting board into the pot, and then took Midorima's and did the same. When he was done, he put both boards and knives into the sink and set the timer on near the stove. Midorima watched Takao do all of this comfortably, as if Midorima's kitchen were his own. Indeed, Takao looked very relaxed as he rolled up his sleeves to wash the items in the sink. Midorima stared at Takao's forearms, realizing he had never seen them. They were lean, but muscular, and the hands at the ends of them were proportionately large. Possibly even able to palm a basketball. Takao's skin was a few shades darker than Midorima's. Did Takao play street ball? That would account for a tan. No, as he saw no evidence of tan lines, Midorima wagered that Takao's skin was normally that color. The muscles in the forearms flexed subtly and unwound as Takao scrubbed the cutting boards. Midorima watched as the veins in them rose up and then disappeared with each action.

 

“Okay,” he heard Takao's voice distantly. The arms disappeared again beneath shirtsleeves being rolled down, and Midorima's eyes wandered up to Takao's face. Takao's eyes were sharp, like there was something lighting them from inside. “Now I'm going to suck your face.”

 

It is a matter of fact that making curry takes about twenty minutes of boiling time, for the carrots and potatoes. Takao washing the dishes, etc. had taken between four and six minutes. That left fourteen minutes, if being sparing, for Takao to, as he elegantly put it, “suck Midorima’s face”. Midorima objected slightly, and the first two minutes were spent with Takao running his hands up Midorima’s hips and under the apron, and, to Midorima’s abject horror, squeezing his buttocks, before Midorima allowed the act of sucking face to take place.

 

To be quite honest, Midorima hadn’t planned on kissing or being kissed at all, let alone while cooking. Yes, he had concluded it may happen, but to do so while cooking was dangerous. One should never leave an active stove unattended. Even if it was an electric stove. That said, Midorima was currently trapped against the sink, Takao’s hands working under the back of Midorima’s shirt. The boiling pot had obviously escaped Takao’s mind and, when a warm, rough hand spread out across the skin at the small of his back, the potatoes and carrots were also expelled from Midorima’s momentarily. Takao simultaneously pulled Midorima closer into him while also pressing Midorima back against the sink. Takao’s hands had moved downward again and Midorima could feel the edge of the counter biting into where they had been, causing him to arch back. Takao once again gripped Midorima’s ass, pulling it closer. Midorima inhaled quickly, color rushing to his face.

 

“Hey! What do you--”

  
It was then that Midorima realized their pelvises were pressed together. The sudden realization brought all his focus to that point, and all at once he was thankful for the apron as it provided an extra layer of fabric between them. Takao’s hands made one more tight squeeze, which made Midorima’s lower stomach twine around itself. Then the hands were disappeared and reappeared higher on Midorima’s back, pulling him away from the sink, the pain in Midorima’s back leaving.

 

“Can’t reach you there,” Takao mumbled, and Midorima had to brace himself as Takao through both arms over Midorima’s shoulders and around his neck, pulling himself up and Midorima down.

 

Takao's nose bumped into Midorima's glasses, but he didn't seem to mind. Indeed, he seemed single-midedly focused on feeling every one of Midorima's taste buds individually with his tongue.

 

As Takao's tongue slowly worked over his, Midorima felt the hands at the back of his neck start to curl into his hair. Midorima shivered and pulled away, breaking the kiss.

 

Midorima wiped at a string of saliva he felt on the side of his mouth. Takao blinked up at him, looking confused.

 

“You don't like kissing?”

 

Midorima stared at Takao. “T-that's not—not so. I suppose I...quite enjoy the sensation.”

 

“So you don't like kissing like that?”

 

Midorima realized his mistake. He was going to have to explain. No, he shouldn't have to explain. Why did he feel the need to be careful with Takao?

 

“It's not that. While I admit it is a bit... _wet_ for my tastes, I don't dislike it.”

 

“Then....” Takao asked.

 

“I...I don't think we should.”

 

“Kiss?”

 

“No,” Midorima didn't quite understand what he was trying to say himself. He vaguely nodded, “ _this._ ”

 

“Are you saving your chaste kisses for marriage or something?”

 

“That's ridiculous. Of course not.”

 

“Then, you mean me. You shouldn't do this with me. I mean, that's fine, but I figured since you brought me to your place and all, some spit swapping wouldn't be crossing the line, but I mean, I can totally leave if you don't want me here.”

 

“It's not that.”

 

Takao raised a hand to the back of his head, stretching his neck, and frowning.

 

“Sorry but I totally don't get what you're trying to say. Is it cuz I told Kise? Did I do something you didn't like?”

 

“No, as much as I dislike Kise knowing...it can't be helped. You didn't know we were acquaintances.”

 

“Sooooo...you don't like me putting the moves on you? I don't usually do it, but if you’re an offense-only type, I guess I'd be willing to take D for you, but you don’t seem like the type to penetrate the circle much,” Takao grinned. “You seem like a backcourt player, if I do say so.”

 

Midorima stood dumbfounded. What he had just heard implied many things, most of which he did not currently have the time to consider. But--

 

“Why do you assume that I—that I am _that_.”

 

“You're not?”

 

“I...” the truth was, Midorima had never particularly given it any deep thought. He'd spent all of his energy on basketball, and then on university and medical school. He had vaguely assumed he would marry the daughter of an upper middle class family and had never really given the particulars any thought. The only time he had ever notably been anything close to attracted to someone, his thoughts had stayed, for the good part, pure and mostly in the realm of respect.

 

Takao waited.

 

“I suppose I never gave it much thought.”

 

“Hm,” Takao nodded and smiled, as if he understood a secret Midorima didn't. “So, what _is_ the problem then?”

 

Midorima didn't know. The realization came to him swiftly and hit him hard. He could think of many reasons—Takao was obviously sexually active, probably with multiple partners. Takao was immature compared to Midorima. He was flirty. Midorima didn't completely understand Takao's motives. So many things, yet none of them seemed adequate. None of them was enough for Midorima to push away those shining eyes, warm hands, and infuriating smile.

 

“Because you're a distraction,” Midorima said, and it sounded weak, even to him.

 

“You don't have work today, right? What am I distracting?”

 

“No, not like that. You're--” Because Midorima couldn't control himself with Takao. How could he explain that? How could he admit it? “Because—because you regularly plague my—my _nocturnal considerations!”_

 

Midorima turned away quickly, sure that Takao would either be disgusted or find him the biggest joke of the decade.

 

“.... _’nocturnal considerations.’”_ Takao echoed hollowly. Midorima winced. He hadn’t meant to admit to this. Hadn’t meant to let Takao know that he had been thinking about him on a very regular basis.

“Midorima.”

 

“Forget what I said, please. It was said in--”

 

“ _Shintarou.”_

 

Midorima’s head snapped back towards Takao. Takao was looking at him, wide-eyed, and glowing.

 

“Did you just admit that you get off at night thinking about me?”

 

“ _What?!_ No! I--”

 

“You get hard thinking about me?”

 

“I never--”

 

“But you think about me. At night.”

 

“...on occasion” Midorima pushed up his glasses.

 

Takao looked up and away from Midorima, his voice calm. “And is it in the _haunting_ way like you said before?”

 

Midorima cringed. He’d tried to forget his previous embarrassing outburst at Kise’s home. The truth was, Midorima did think about Takao a lot. In fact, recently, any time not spent at work, he thought about Takao. And, unprofessionally, sometimes even at work. But it had become different. Thinking about Takao didn’t induce panic like it had before.

 

“...I suppose not.”

 

Takao cracked a smile and inched closer. “So you do get off on me.”

 

“I do not.”

 

“That’s a shame. Thinking about that is hot,” Takao leaned in again, his lips hovering over Midorima’s. Midorima could feel a strand of Takao’s bangs brushing his cheek. He had the urge to swat it away, but any movement would bring them closer. Midorima stood stock still, rigid, as Takao moved away from his lips, to his ear. “I think about you,” he said conspiratorily, needling the fine hairs on Midorima’s neck.

 

Midorima gaped. He had never met anyone as blunt as Takao. Midorima had often been accused of speaking his mind too frankly, but he would never, ever say the things Takao said so easily.

 

Takao leaned backwards, pulling Midorima with him. He grinned up at Midorima, hunched over with the weight of Takao. Midorima stared at Takao. At the shining eyes. At the thin strands of hair that fell in his face, threatening to cover those eyes. Midorima got the sudden urge to sweet Takao's hair back, to see all of Takao. Takao's lips, below his average nose, were thick and framed his grin upsettingly well. Midorima realized he was staring, and felt his face begin to heat up.

 

“Ask, and I'll kiss you,” Takao smiled.

 

“I would never,” Midorima moved to push up his glasses but realized he couldn't half way. He cleared his throat and lowered his hands subtly.

 

“You don't want to kiss?”

 

“I-- I would prefer if you didn't put words in my mouth.”

 

Takao raised an eyebrow. “You really know how to make a person want to spoil you,” he sighed.

 

“What are you insin--”

 

Takao kissed Midorima quickly. He pulled back, a laugh in his eyes. “That's what I mean. I think you doth protest too much.”

 

“You--”

 

Takao kissed him again, this time catching Midorima's bottom lip between his. He sucked lightly, then ran his tongue along it. It felt warm and wet. Midorima got the impression of a slug, but he oddly didn't feel disgusted. Takao worked up, pressing both of his lips against Midorima's. Again, Midorima could feel how thick they were. They almost felt plump against his own thin, cool lips. Midorima wanted to feel more of them. He waited for them to move against him again. Would Takao lick? Bite them lightly like he did at the train station? But Takao didn't do either of those things. In fact, he pulled away, just a bit, so that Midorima could feel the light breath that escaped from Takao's lips on his own, cooling the slight wetnes on them and sending a tiny chill up Midorima's back.

 

“Takao,” Midorima started, then immediately shocked. His voice had come out strange. Thin and high.

 

It seemed to be a signal for Takao, because Takao launched himself at Midorima, pulling them together, teeth clashing as Takao pried open Midorima's mouth, and a warm, wet tongue slipped in. Midorima nearly bit Takao's tongue in surprise. It was an all-together alien feeling, Takao's tongue in his mouth. It moved, tracing over Midorima's teeth, and the entire inside of Midorima's mouth. When Takao ran it across the top of Midorima's mouth, the there was an instant, severly ticklish sensation on his pate, and Takao had to pull away quickly because Midorima involuntarily clamped his mouth shut.

 

Takao pulled away slightly, both of them taking deep breaths. That was when Midorima realized that Takao's hands were no longer looped around his neck. They were slipping under his apron, laying flat against his abdomen. All of Midorima's focus went to them, warm patches spreading where they touched. It became a bit harder to breathe.

 

Takao moved forward again, but instead of going in for a kiss, he moved down, kissing Midorima's jaw, then moving down more, a warm, wet trail to Midorima's adam's apple. There, Takao sucked once and then kissed it, and it took all of his will for Midorima not to swallow violently.

 

He'd forgotten about the hands. Somehow, Takao had slipped his hands under Midorima's shirt, and they were roving up, tracing Midorima's muscles, up to his pectoralis. Midorima's attention was torn between the hot mouth at his neck and the warm fingers on his chest.

 

A thumb brushed over his left nipple and Midorima inhaled sharply. Takao grinned against his neck, moving down to the curve of his colarbone. He bit there, then sucked sharply. Midorima restrained himself from shuddering. He realized his hads were just hanging, limply. Slowly, he moved one, resting it on the side of Takao's head, feeling the hair there. It wasn't soft, but it was much finer than he had imagined. Midorima felt the tips and texture in detail with his fingers, fascinated. Takao chuckled and pinched Midorima's nipple, breaking him out of his haze quite effectively.

 

“What--” Midorima protested, but Takao bit lightly into the flesh between his color bone and his neck and Midorima nearly shrieked, tightening his grip in Takao's hair. Takao moaned into his neck, the vibrations sending a thorny chill through Midorima, reminding him of how that had felt when it had been around his penis. Takao seemed to be in the same track of mind, because, before Midorima realized it, the thumb that had flicked over his nipple was tracing large arcs at his hipbone, sliding under the elastic of his boxer briefs.

 

Midorima's whole body went rigid.

 

“W-what are you planning to do,” Midorima stuttered out.

 

“Make you feel good, if you'll let me,” Takao said into the crook of Midorima's neck, emphasizing it with a lick.

 

Midorima felt Takao's fingers wander down the front of his pants. Takao rested his palm there, and the heat from it felt scorching through the fabric. Despite himself, Midorima felt the blood rush from his head, traveling down his body. Takao's palm cupped around the mound that was growing in Midorima's pants. Then, he rubbed.

 

Midorima let out a quick, low groan that shocked both of them. Takao rubbed again, hard, sliding his palm up, while biting sharply into Midorima's shoulder. The combination of the three sensations, warmth, pain, and pleasure fought for dominance in Midorima's brain. Takao moved his hand again, brushing his knuckles against what was now the bottom of Midorima's increasingly hard dick. Midorima felt the heat like a ghost when the hand stopped.There was a metallic sound, and Midorima realized what was going to happen the moment Takao's large, hot hand slipped back under the waistband of his underwear and gripped almost the entirety of Midorima's shaft.

 

Midorima twitched violently before he could gain control. Takao stepped back a half step and grinned up at Midorima, his hand sliding up once around Midorima. Midorima stared down at Takao, their eyes burrowing into eachother. Midorima realized, up this close, that Takao's eyes were a fairly normal blue, but they were outlined with a circle of silver. Perhaps that was what had made Midorima first think they were metallic.

 

Takao moved his hand to the top of Midorima's dick and let his thumb pass over the head, catching momentarily in the slit. Midorima gasped quietly and Takao smiled wider. Midorima couldn't look at Takao's face anymore. He felt his own growing too hot. Instead, his eyes wandered down, curious, to the hand grasping him. His eyes widened. Looking at Takao's large hand around himself was embarassing enough in of itself, but Midorima was shocked at how large he had grown. He looked nearly swollen in Takao's hand. He watched as the hand slowly uncurled, one finger at a time, revealing more of himself. He looked away, past Takao's face as he felt the hand leave him. His eyes darted back to Takao's questioningly. Takao raised his hand between them.

 

“Lick,” Takao said encouragingly.

 

“W-what? No. Why?”

 

Takao shrugged. “Okay, I'll do it.”

 

Midorima watched in fascinated horror as Takao stuck out his tongue and ran the whole width and lenth of it over his own palm several times, up to the fingers. Then, Takao took his fingers into his mouth, one at a time, swallowing them to the base. Midorima swallowed audibly. He suddenly felt too large in his clothes. Everything felt restrictive. Takao took his last finger out of his mouth and licked his palm two more times before reaching down and grasping Midorima again, this time with cool saliva masking the heat of his hand. Midorima jerked at the sensation and Takao began to move his hand, pumping. Midorima felt himself slide under Takao's fingers.

 

Midorima felt a knot formind his his lower abdomen. It threatened to take up his whole stomach. Takao pumped faster. Midorima squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“Don't do that,” he heard Takao say warmly. Midorima opened his eyes to see Takao's bright smile. There was something different though. A shadow in Takao's eyes. Before Midorima could blink, Takao leaned in, kissing Midorima messily, more of an attack on Midorima's lips than anything. Midorima, acquiesced, opening his mouth slightly. Takao's tongue slipped in, runining over the top of his own. Takao squeezed Midorima's shaft hard at the same time that he licked the roof of Midorima's mouth. Midorima's mind was torn, unsure where to go. To his surprise, Takao moaned into his mouth. Takao pulled away from the kiss, rubbing his palm over the head of Midorima's dick.

 

“Touch mine,” Takao said in a way that was half-order, and half-begging.

 

Midorima swallowed hard. He felt the urge to push up his glasses and look away, but he glanced at Takao's face, and all thought left him. Takao was looking up at him with cheeks that were splotched with red. There was a single bead of sweat on Takao's forehead, near the part of his bangs. Takao's eyes, they're boring blue, _flashed._

 

Midorima nodded curtly, once, and reached out to fumble with the button on Takao's pants. It was opposite of Midorima undoing his own, and it took him a few attempts to unbutton. With shaking hands, more and more of his attention going to the sensations of Takao's hand running up and down his shaft, it took Midorima a good while to get Takao's zipper down. When he did, Takao's boxers bulged out, his dick pressing as far out as it could, restrained by the navy fabric.

 

Midorima blinked for a second, unsure of whether he regretted his actions, and unsure of what to do. Takao's other, forgotten hand, came out of nowhere, wrapping around Midorima's, and guiding it to his dick.

 

“I will do it,” Midorima snapped, taking his hand from Takao's.

 

“Sure,” Takao breathed, smiling slightly.

 

“Midorima reached out tentively, moving the fabric of Takao's boxers, widening the space in the front of them. He watched as Takao's dick caught on the fabric, and then sprung out. Midorima stared at it. He had seen plenty other men's penises in locker rooms, but that was always with the circumstances of basketball and Midorima was preoccupied with other, more serious thoughts.

 

Now, it was just him and Takao. There was no basketball, no jerseys, and no benches seperating them. Takao's was thicker than Midorima's, though shorter, Midorima noted. It curved up in a fluid arc, and it had been circumsized.

 

“Don't lose focus, Mr. shooting guard,” Takao said, and Midorima felt Takao's hot hand move down and cup his testicles, lifting up slighly. Midorima flinched, his hand squeezing around Takao's dick subconsciously. Takao let out a low moan. The sound was deep and gutteral, almost a violent purr. Midorima felt himself harden more.

 

Takao moved his hand faster, gripping tighter. Midorima could feel his heartbeat in his cock, surrounded by Takao's hand. Takao stopped the motion only to rub his fingertip into the slit on Midorima's head. Midorima shuttered, falling forward, his head resting on Takao's shoulder. He could hear Takao's labored breathing now, huffing hotly in his ear. Midorima felt Takao twitch in his hand. He vaguely wondered why Takao was so aroused by touching Midorima. The thought escaped when Takao added twisting into his pumps, running his hand up Midorima's shaft and then over the head and back down again and again. With each rough breath he heard, Mimdorima felt the hot twisting in his stomach growing larger and keener.

 

Midorima squeezed Takao experimentally. He felt Takao swell under his fingers. Takao answered in turn by stroking Midorima faster. Midorima's hand stilled for a moment as he was lost in the feeling, leaning hard into Takao. He nearly shouted when Takao's lips wrapped around his earlobe and sucked. Midorima felt a soft pull at his ear, and then Takao's tongue ran from the base, up the shell of Midorima's ear, the sensation completely foreign and fascinating. Everything was loud in Midorima's ear. His pulse, Takao's breath. Takao nibbled on Midorima's earlobe, stroking Midorima faster. Not to be outdone, Midorima tried to distract himself, focusing on his hand movements rather than the insanely warm and wet tongue that was probing into his ear, putting all of Midorima's neck hairs on end. Midorima let go and re-wrapped his fingers around Takao's dick, one at a time, feeling it closely. The veins, the piece of skin pulled taught along the back of the frenulum. Midorima stroked it, and Takao's penis jumped in his hand. He squeezed more tightly then ran his fingers up the underside, to the top. At the head, precum leaked out and Midorima fought the urge to wash his hands immediately.

 

As if showing him what to do, Takao ran his thumb along the slit of Midorima's head again, smearing the bead of precum that had welled up all around the head of Midorima's dick, moving his palm over it again. Midorima shuttered. The heat in his stomach was becoming nearly painful.

 

“Takao--” Midorima gasped.

 

“I know,” Takao breathed deeply, pumping Midorima almost painfully fast. Midorima's breath caught in his chest and he felt his muscles tensing up from his abdomen out. His knees locked, then buckled as Takao bit, hard, into his shoulder. Midorima felt the heat explode in his stomach and leak out onto Takao's merciless hand. Takao pumped him a few times, the sesation excruciating and pleausreable all at once. Midorima slid down the side of the counter, his vertibrae rubbing against the wood, but he didn't notice. His vision was blurry. His whole head felt muddled and fogged. He felt his slowly pulse accutely in his penis as the blood slowly returned to the rest of him.

 

In front of him, Takao had slid to the groudn too. Catching his breath slowly, Takao shifted himself so that he was sitting next to Midorima, back against the cabinets too. They sat in silence like that for what felt like an eternity, both breathing deeply. Midorima waited for the sensations and movements to return to his limbs.

 

“Where was the restroom again,” Takao panted next to him. Midorima, in all his haze, realized that he had ejaculated but Takao had not. He dared a glance at Takao next to him, surprised when they locked eyes.

 

“By the entrance, on the left side,” Midorima licked his lips that suddenly felt very, very dry, his whole face blazing as if fire had been set to it.

 

“Oh fuck,” Takao muttered.

 

Takao, Midorima learned, was very, very fast when he wanted to be. Midorima was on his back on the floor, his head cradled in Takao's hand, before he knew what had happened. Takao was kissing him, twining fingers in the hair at the back of his head. Midorima felt that Takao was going to eat him, the way he was biting and sucking and licking every inch of Midorima's mouth. Takao's other hand was under Midorima's shirt, his apron loose and flung to the side. Takao ran his tongue along the inside of Midorima's bottom lip, between it and his teeth. His hand slid up, pulling Midorima's shirt up to expose a nipple. With new territory to conquer, Takao dipped his head down, leaving Midorima's lips to make a big, long, wet lap at Midorima's nipple. Midorima gasped and nearly pushed Takao off of him, but then Takao moaned deeply and Midorima was aware of a wet, sloshing sound. He realized that Takao was stroking himself.

 

Midorima was completely set to protest, when Takao licked again. And then again. He licked and sucked Midorima's nipple in time to the pumping himself. Takao moaned again, his teeth slightly grazing the tip of Middorima's hard nipple and the fingers tightening in his hair. Midorima gasped hoarsely as Takao let out a low whine, his head rising to look Midorima straight in the eyes as he shuddered and came hot and wet on Midorima's stomach. Takao collapsed onto his arm, to the side of Midorima, laying on the ground next to him.

 

They lay there soundlessly. Midorima felt the cold of the kitchen floor beginning to win out against the heat of his body. Next to him, he felt a few inches of Takao's skin against his arm like a hot iron. It was a few moments later that he realized his stomach was cold. And _why_ it was cold. He shot up to sitting position, looking at the half-dry, sticky mess on his abdomen. _Some of it had even gottn into his navel_. Midorima stared down at himself, horified.

 

“Oh shit, sorry. I'm sorry. I’ll get a towel,” Takao stood up wobbily next to him and Midorima leaned his head back against the cabinets, eyes closed, trying to make it all a dream. Wishing it all to be a hallucination caused by the wrong chemicals in his apartment's water supply. Boldly defying him, his ears listened to Takao open and slam two drawers before the sink faucet turned on and then sharply off. The sound of water being wrung out of a cloth in the sink. Midorima focused on his breathing, attempting to lower his pulse. His stomach felt disgusting.

 

“Tell me something about yourself. A secret,” Takao returned to the floor, handing the wet towel to Midorima. Midorima accepted it quickly, albeit with a small frown, and Takao settled back down next to him, wrapping his arms around his knees and leaning his head on them.

 

“What is the point of a secret if I tell you,” Midorima breathed deeply, wiping at the wetness on his stomach with the dish towel. He pressed hard, scrubbing, turning the flesh red and raw. He would have to throw it away now, he thought with a tinge of annoyance.

 

“I just want to know more about you. It doesn’t have to be a secret. This is an….icebreaker, or something, if you wanna think about it that way.”

 

“I see. A secret,” Midorima frowned. He didn’t have many secrets. He was reserved, but honest when people asked his opinion on matters. Sometimes even too honest or direct, given how people sometimes reacted. There was, however, two things he had never told anyone. And they were both becoming more obvious the more he encountered and spent time with Takao.

 

“I think…” Midorima paused. He would probably never say these words ever again. “That I may be romantically interested in men.”

 

Takao stared at him. “Um, not to ruin your big coming-out or anything, but that’s not really a secret. At least, not to me....given the circumstances and all,” Takao motioned at something that seemed to encompass all, and nothing.

 

“I...suppose that’s true.”

 

“But it’s good to know that you’re not pretending to like dudes,” Takao suggested helpfully. "That'd be awkward."

 

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

 

“But! It doesn’t count. Give me something else.”

 

“I…” Midorima trailed off. There was the other thing. The big thing. Possibly the biggest lie, no, witholding of the truth, in all of Midorima’s life. Something he didn’t even want to admit to himself, but he knew to be absolutely true. He felt his heart begin to flutter and his stomach curl inwards. Takao didn’t need to know. No one did. He could make up a lie, or find another, smaller secret. He met Takao’s eyes, surprised that they had been drilling into his the whole time. He hadn’t realized he had been looking away. Takao watched, calm, but there was an expectant gleam in his eyes. “I didn’t want to be a doctor.”

 

It came out.

 

Midorima was surprised at the flash of shock that passed Takao’s face.

 

“What did you want to be?” Takao asked, his warm calmness falling right back into place.

 

“A professional basketball player. A shooting guard. For the Japanese association, or the American one. It didn’t matter. A shooting guard on a good team.”

 

“...If you don’t want to tell me, it’s totally okay, but why did you stop playing?”

 

“My father is a doctor, and he expected me to be one also. I was skilled in basketball because I put in all of my effort. I did everything I possibly could. I thought I could do the same with practicing medicine and be equally successful, but the reason it was so simple to keep putting my all into basketball may have been...because I loved it.”

 

Midorima said it all quickly, in one breath, and when he finished, he felt taxed. Exhausted. He felt his shoulders droop and he let his head tilt back, taking in a deep breath. Takao sat next to him, silent for a bit. Then he spoke.

 

“Me too. I loved basketball so much. I was pretty good at it, not great, but definitely better than average. I was happy just to play. But that meant I had no motivation to improve and by the time I realized my mistake, it was too late and I wasn’t good enough to keep going. To make it to pros, or even a university team,” Takao reached up, lacing his fingers together above his head and stretching. Midorima watched the muscles in his shoulders and arms move slowly, and he could picture them passing, or making a hook shot. “Here’s my secret,” Takao continued. “I think...if I had played basketball with you, if we’d been on the same team, my life might be really, really different right now.”

 

“...I don’t believe we would have gotten along. Not in high school.”

 

“You’re right, you probably would have pissed me off. Pissed me off enough to make me work hard though,” Takao smiled.

 

“...Perhaps you’re right, someone like you would have pestered me into staying on the team,” Midorima found himself nodding.

 

“But!” Takao hopped up to a squat. “We have to work with what we have now and...I have to say I’m pretty happy where I am at the moment.”

 

Midorima looked in wonder at Takao grinning down at him and the kitchen cabinets behind him and the fake kitchen flooring underneath them. There was a straw slice of onion on Takao’s shirt.

 

“Yes, I suppose it isn’t a _completely_ objectionable situation, though I’d rather not be on a floor,” Midorima pushed up his glasses to hide the smallest of smiles that he allowed himself.

 

“Was that a joke?! My goodness. I do declare, Mr. Midorima has made a funny,” Takao said obnoxiously, holding out a hand for Midorima. Midorima ignored it, pushing himself up to standing and brushing out the wrinkles in his clothing.

 

“Might wanna button those up before we eat though. Unless you wanna leave it like that for later. Easy access and all. No judgement.”

 

Midorima felt the blood drain from his face as he scrambled to tuck his boxer briefs back in properly and zip his pants. Near the stove, the timer went off, the beeping blaring in Midorima's ears, where blood still pounded dully.

 

“I haven’t seen you at work, so I don’t know for sure, but... I could tell you were worried about that little girl before. I think you’re probably a really good doctor,” Takao turned, singing that strange English song again while dropping curry cubes into the pot and stirring.

 

“...I’m not a doctor yet,” Midorima said quietly, watching as Takao pulled out two spoons from a drawer, as if he had known they were there. “I'm taking a shower,” Midorima stated curtly. “And, no,” he stopped Takao as a smiling mouth opened. “you are not invited to join me.”

 

“I'll dish up dinner then,” Takao said, feigning hurt. Midorima was not fooled. There was laughter in those sharp eyes. And something also disturbingly similar to self-satisfaction. Midorima left the kitchen without another word, Takao's smile plaguing him all the way into the shower.

 

Midorima stood in the shower, thinking. His hair dripped into his eyes, further worsening his naturally weak vision. He frowned hard at the general shape of a shampoo bottle. He had let things get out of control. He had let Takao get carried away, and he had allowed himself to be swept along. Takao, Midorima had known directly from the start, was accustomed to that sort of... _thing._ Midorima doubted that Takao would use their actions against Midorima. Takao, it seemd, was in it for the pure physicality of it.

 

That was fine. Midorima could engage in an adult relationship of that sort. Takao seemed more free than he, so would be a convenient way to release stress or anxiety. Midorima was sure Takao thought that way. He could too. As long as he controlled himself more carefully. No more of these...curry incidents.

 

Midorima left the shower, toweled off, and put on a clean change of clothing. He prepared himself, wondering what he should say to Takao. What _did_ one say after such a thing? Midorima had some...very limited...experience, but mutual manual ejection in the kitchen was not any part of it. What was the correct thing to say after such a thing?

 

“Takao,” Midorima stepped into the kitchen to find Takao setting two plates of curry on the table.

 

“Yeah?” Takao piped up, looking for all the world like he hadn't just been spent on a floor.

 

“We need to clean the kitchen.” …was not a reasonable enough thing to say, Midorima thought. It was logical and it was true.

 

Takao froze, mid air with a dish. He raised his eyebrows at Midorima.

 

Then lost it. The curry sloshed hazardly across the plate, and it looked physically painful for Takao to keep enough control of himself to put it on the table before he doubled over, slappy the table obnoxiously. Midorima waited, frowning hard. Finally Takao's raucous laughter began to peter out into quiet wheezes. Takao stood up straight, whiping at his eyes.

 

“I was wondering what you were gonna say. Honestly, I didn't think you'd say anything, but then you come out and say that.”

 

“What's wrong with what I said? It's true.”

 

“You're damn adorable, Midorima Shintarou,” Takao wiped at his other eye, beaming at Midorima. “But let's eat first. I don't think this curry will get any better, cold. Then I'll help you scrub it on my hands and knees with a toothbrush if you want.”

 

Midorima did see the logic in eating a meal while it was warm, but his skin prickled at the thought of semen seeping into his hardwood flooring. Midorima looked from Takao and the rather suspicious curry to his kitchen area.

 

“...okay, we can do it now,” Takao shrugged, smiling at Midorima like he was an obstinate child. Midorima pursed his lips.

 

“...Not necessary. Providing it is thoroughly cleaned after.”

 

“You have my word,” Takao held up a long pinky. They both pulled out chairs and sat down at Midorima's small table. Takao gave thanks and dipped his spoon in. Midorima followed suit, also far less enthusiastically. Takao had taken over the last steps of the curry making, adding in a few things that Midorima couldn't see. Midorima eyed his dish before taking a small, experimental taste. To his surprise, it tasted quite good. Nothing at all like a dish that had gone...untended...for most of its cook time.

 

“How is it,” Takao asked eagerly.

 

“...edible.”

 

Takao let out a small laugh and had another bite. “With this....did I _curry_ favor with you?”

 

“If you say another word, I will remove your person from my apartment forcefully.”

 

“Roger!”

 

Midorima continued eating silently. He could feel glances from Takao weighing on him, making his hand move slower, his mouth chew slower. Takao's gaze felt like a one-sided conversation. Midorima realized he almost prefered to hear Takao's voice. At least then he could tell it to shut up. Eyes, he couldn't quiet.

 

“Please stop looking at me while I eat.”

 

“Can't help it. You're super gorgeous.”

 

“You are blind.”

 

“I have fantastic eyesight, actually. You're cute too. Somehow you manage to make a bowl cut endearing. That's real, natural talent there.”

 

Midorima nearly spit in his curry. His sharp retort was interrupted by his cellphone going off, somewhere on the kitchen counter.

 

“Is that a midi version of Canon in D? How old are you? Sixty?”

 

Midorima ignored him, rising from the table and retrieving his phone. He answered curtly, greeted by the ward supervisor at the hospital. Midorima listened, all the time aware of Takao trying to subtly watch and listen in.

 

“I understand. I'll be there posthaste,” Midorima hung up.

 

“Work?”

 

“Yes. I need to leave now.”

 

“But you haven't finished your curry.”

 

“No helping it.”

 

“But I haven't finished mine.”

 

“You have as long as it takes for me to put on my jacket and scarf then.”

 

“How about I stay? I'll clean the dishes and the floor if you tell me where the cleaning supply is, then I'll go.”

 

Midorima stared at Takao openly. How could Takao believe Midorima would leave him alone in his apartment. Takao was a stranger. Well, not a stranger, but...

 

“You let me blow you the first time you met me and, if your defense is you were drunk, you weren't drunk forty-five minutes ago. If I wanted to rob you, I could have in that alley.”

 

“I didn't have my wallet then.”

 

“I'll clean really well, I promise,” Takao said amusedly.

 

Midorima glanced at his watch. No time.

 

“Cleaning supplies in the hall closet, near the shoe cabinet. Put all of the dishes away where you found them. The door locks automatically, so you don't need a key.”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

Midorima slipped into his shoes in the entryway, Takao trailing.

 

“And Takao,”

 

“yeah?”

 

“There's an old toothbrush in the bucket with the cleaners.”

 

Takao barked a strained laugh. “Got it.”

 

Midorima grasped his front door hand, pausing. Should he really allow someone he barely knew to be in his house alone? He should kick Takao out. But time...

 

“Shintarou,”

 

“Yes,” Midorima turned. Right into Takao. Takao reached his hands up on either side of Midorima's jaw and kissed him quickly on the lips. “Tell Akemi I said hi.”

 

Midorima felt himself light up. He turned back to the door, opening it, only to nearly jump into the hallway when a large hand firmly clasped his right butt cheek and squeezed once. Midorima let out a noise most audibly similar to a yelp and whipped around to the door closing on the image of Takao waving, grinning.

 

Midorima made a mental note to fervently regret all of his actions after he was finished at work.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Midorima was only a resident. He should not have his own patients. He liked to think it was due to his excellent skills and the trust of the hospital staff that he had so much responsibility, but there was always a niggling doubt in him that his father was somehow pulling strings. It burrowed in like a tick, latching on, getting under his skin, and sucking energy from him.

However, one of the pediatrics nurses had practically begged him to see Akemi. The woman had wrung her hands, explaining that Midorima had been the only one Akemi had responded positively to. Midorima doubted whether it had been a positive response, but at least it was a response.

 

Midorima braced himself for the crunch of macaroni underfoot but it didn't come. He walked into the room. The TV was on a channel that played kids' programs in the morning and afternoon, and sports in the evening. It was showing a soccer match. Akemi was sitting back in bed, staring at it blankly.

 

“Good evening, Akemi,” Midorima announced his presence and sat down in the chair next to her bed. Akemi rolled her head a little to the side to nod perfunctorliy at him.

 

“I was told that you haven't been eating. You didn't eat lunch or dinner. Does the food taste bad?”

 

“Sensei, what do you like?”

 

“W-what?” Midorima didn't correct Akemi. He wasn't a doctor. He wasn't a nurse. But he didn't want to bring up a reason for Akemi to be wary of him even further, or believe she couldn't trust him.

 

“I like umaibo and watermelon and painting,” Akemi said offhandedly.

 

“I can ask for watermelon for--”

 

“But I like soccer the most.”

 

Midorima's whole body stilled, a cold silence falling over his limbs, his heart slowing.

 

Akemi stared at the TV screen, hard, as if it were bullying her. “I was fast. I beat all of the boys at running on sports day.”

 

“I bet you did.”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“With physical therapy, and some prosthetics made just for you, you can be fast again,” Midorima said carefully.

 

Akemi turned to look at Midorima like he was foolish. Midorima adjusted himself slightly in the chair.

 

“What position is your favorite,” he asked.

 

“Right wing.”

 

“Ah, an offensive specialist.”

 

“A spesh-what?”

 

“You score a lot of goals, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I played basketball. I was a shooting guard. Do you know what that means?”

 

Akemi shook her head. Midorima pushed up his glasses. “It means that I made most of the points on my team. I was quite skilled.”

 

“ _You?”_

 

Midorima frowned. How dare a kid question his past athletic capabilities.

 

“I thought you played piano,” Akemi said suspiciously.

 

Midorima pushed up his glasses. “You're confusing me with the frog.”

 

Akemi raised an eyebrow.

 

“But I also played piano, like the frog. I was also skilled at that, but the frog is better. I was better at basketball. I enjoyed both activities though.” Midorima set down his clipboard next to him and leaned towards Akemi, the way Takao had leaned in to talk to him at the bar. It had made Midorima feel like Takao was focusing his everything on Midorima. Narrowing the world down to the space between them. “Akemi, if you work very hard, if you do everything you can, you will probably be able to play soccer again. However, if it's too difficult, if you get too tired, or if you start to like soccer less, you can find something new to like. I liked basketball, but I also liked piano. Now I like working in this hospital. Some day, I wish to learn how to cook well. Perhaps after that, I will like cooking. It's okay to find something new. But if you really want to play soccer again, and you work hard, I believe you can do it.”

 

“I'll never be as fast as I was,” Akemi said firmly. Midorima had to praise her realism.

 

“Probably not,” Midorima acknowledged, watching Akemi deflate. “But, you have many people who will help you. They will work hard, and you will work hard, and then, you can do anything you like. You may do it a bit slower, but you will be able to do anything.”

 

Akemi looked hard at Midorima, then blinked and looked back at the television.

 

“Doctors fix people, right?”

 

“We try to. We do our best.”

 

“...Who fixes doctors?”

 

Midorima paused, looking from the TV to Akemi.

 

“Other doctors. Or family. Or friends.”

 

“Friends can't fix people.”

 

Asymetric red and yellow flashed before Midorima's eyes. A red-haired boy he once called a friend, turned into something more cruel and pitiable. How Midorima could only watch silently. He thought of the balanced red now, set back into something hopeful by steady blue.

 

“Sometimes they can't. But sometimes they're the only ones who can.”

 

Akemi turned to look at Midorima, reading him like a book. Midorima could feel her analyzing him. He felt like she could see his own failing in the bridge of his nose.

 

“Sensei,” Akemi looked back to the screen, bit of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You should play basketball more.”

 

Midorima stared at her profile, reminded so much of his sister. They had vastly different features, but both girls were painfully observant and intelligent far beyond their years. “Perhaps you're right. For now, would you like me to ask your nurse to bring you watercolors? And some watermelon if they have it?”

 

“Sure,” her dull response was betrayed by the sparkle in her eyes.

 

“Only if you will eat half of your dinner.”

 

“...okay.”

 

Midorima drove home, in the early hours of the morning, his mind wandering back to Akemi and what he had told her. He hadn't lied about her being able to possibly play soccer again, but he also hadn't fully believed all the other things he'd told her.

 

Friends. Midorima had his father—wanting the best for and from his son, his mother—caring and concerned but also hovering, his sister, whom he cared more for than he had ever cared for anyone. His old teammates. Could they even be considered friends? Perhaps more like colleagues, or acquantainces who had been mutually beneficial to each other. He thought of the other residents at the hospital and how few he could actually name. He thought of Takao. Takao was not a friend. Takao was...

 

Takao was...

 

possibly still in his home, Midorima suddenly remembered. No, Midorima had told him to leave when he was finished cleaning, but if he had learned anything, it was that Takao did not follow his predictions. Midorima took the elevator up to his floor. He wouldn't be half-surprised to find Takao lounging on his sofa, watching a television program at an obnoxiously loud level, disturbing the neighbors. Would he have even cleaned properly? Midorima shuddered at the all-too realistic idea of Takao simply splashing water on the kitchen floor and using another dish towel to clean it up. Midorima took out his keys and opened his door to....

 

An empty apartment, the lights all off.

 

Midorima slipped out of his shoes and placed them in their spot in the cupboard, stepping into his home, wondering why his stomach felt empty. He turned on the lights to an apartment that looked exactly as it should. Warily, he walked over to the kitchen. The floor was clean. In fact, it looked as clean as it did after the housekeeper came. It shined blaringly at him. He turned away, before something caught his notice. There was a note scrawled on his nice stationary, left on the counter. Midorima picked it up.

 

_Hey,_

_Good work. I cleaned up. I worked my butt off so I hope it's good enough. Had to throw away that towel though. You could have stood it up it was so stiff (lol). Figured you wouldn't want it around._

_I made you some breakfast cuz I messed up your floor. In the fridge. Call me ;)_

 

There was a scribble at the bottom corner that looked suspiciously like a hastily crossed out penis. Midorima crumpled the paper up, ready to dispose of it, but paused. He opened the refrigerator. Indeed, there was a plate inside, covered in plastic wrap. On it was a tamago-yaki, small salad, and next to it a bowl with miso soup. Midorima wondered if he had even had all the ingredients to make such a breakfast in his kitchen.

 

He put the balled up note on the counter, removing the plate and bowl to heat the soup. When it was finished he sat down at the table, loosening his tie. He took a sip of the soup, unsure what to expect. It had seaweed in it, like he liked, and tofu and scallions. Midorima took another sip, draining nearly half of it. He put it down and sectioned off a part of the tamago-yaki. He took a bite. The balance of salty and sweet was nearly perfect. Midorima put down his chopsticks neatly, pushed the plate away from him, and stood up from the table.

 

Pulling his tie off, he went to his bedroom and dropped onto his bed. He removed his glasses and turned onto his side. He fell asleep defiantly, fully-clothed, without having washed his face or brushed his teeth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Midorima was busy. Working double shifts, sometimes with only one day of rest, during which he would sleep the whole day to regain stamina. He took his meals standing up, or not at all. When he did have time, he would volunteer to take on another shift or do research in his apartment.

 

He was too busy, he told himself, to reply to Takao's message the first time he received one. And in the middle of work the second time (three days later), and he forgot to reply before falling asleep. There was no reason to reply to the third one (two more days later), which was simply _G'morning, work hard today!_

 

However, Midorima knew one person who was more persistant than Takao, and who had no sense of when he was interrupting, or decency to let things be.

 

“WHAT, Kise,” Midorima nearly shouted into the phone in the breakroom. Kise had called him seven times that day. Midorima hoped Kise had been in an emergency, because if not, he would put him in one himself.

 

“Midorimacchi! You finally picked up!”

 

“Some of us do not have carefree lives where we are at liberty to answer phones at any given moment,” Midorima bit out.

 

“Yeah, I know. That's why I kept calling. I figured I'd eventually catch you when you're free.”

 

Midorima didn't have the energy to point out how ridiculous that was.

 

“Takao mentioned to me yesterday that you weren't responding to his messages. He said you must be really busy, so he didn't want to bother you more, but he wanted to make sure you were okay. He thought maybe you didn't want to talk to him, so I called to make sure you're okay.”

 

“Why would I not be okay?”

 

“Because you weren't responding. You're kind of a jerk sometimes, but you usually always respond eventually. Even if it's just” (here, Kise put on a deep, sullen tone that Midorima could only suppose was supposed to be a wildly inaccurate impression of him) “ _'die!'_ so I was kinda worried too, you know.”

 

Midorima sighed, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Kise, I'm busy. Goodbye.”

 

“So you'll message Takao?!”

 

“Yes. Goodbye,” Midorima hung up curtly. He put the phone down on the table, staring at his can of red bean soup. They had changed the brand of soup in the vending machine, and the new one was too sweet. A memory of a taste of tamago-yaki, perfectly sweetened flashed across his tongue and Midorima swallowed, chasing it away. If he was being perfectly, truly honest with himself, he probably _had_ been avoiding Takao. But that was to be expected. Takao had practically attacked him in his own home. Midorima supposed he could have predicted that, from various insinuations Takao had made, but Midorima had figured he'd just always been joking, or had a very vulgar form of humor.

 

The truth was, Midorima had tried to put Takao from his mind, but every time he went into his kitchen, a draw was what he had leaned on, a tile had been cold beneath him, the sink had dug into his back while Takao had orally stimulated his nipple. His kitchen had become cursed for him, as if a lecherous spirit haunted it.

 

Midorima was talking to Akemi about the different people who could be her physical therapists. She didn't like the look of Dr. Oikawa, and apparently Dr. Ikari smelled of raw onions. Dr. Aone, looked scary, but was actually the most patient and supportive, Midorima gathered. Akemi was describing getting measured for prosthetics lividly when Midorima felt his pocket vibrate. Discreetly, he glanced at his pager to see its small sliver of a screen blank. He realized it was his cellphone vibrating. Normally he left it in his locker, but he had been cut short during break and forgotten to put it back.

 

“You can check it,” Akemi blurted, pulling Midorima back to attention.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Your phone. Check it.”

 

Midorima looked at her for a few seconds and she raised an eyebrow, as if to tell him to get on with it.

 

“Pardon me,” he mumbled, pulling his phone out to look at it. A message. From Takao. Midorima slipped it back into his pocket.

 

“Who was it,” Akemi asked.

 

“No one.”

 

Akemi frowned.

 

“...A...friend,” Midorima added.

 

Akemi looked at Midorima knowingly, as if a six-year-old could understand the fine workings of adult relationships...or, whatever it was between Takao and him.

 

“Your best friend? You're kinda red,” Akemi stated offhandedly, flicking a splatter of blue onto her paper artfully with her dollar-store brush that Midorima had purchased hurriedly a few days prior.

 

“No...nothing like that. I'll respond to him later. What is the subject of your painting today?”

 

“A shell,” Akemi said, pointing the brush at a swirl of orange and green. Midorima gazed at it, leaning over her bed tray.

 

“It looks a bit like the god Poseidon and a dolphin to my eyes.”

 

“Really?”

 

“I wouldn't lie.”

 

“Poseyedawn. I like that. I'll make it Poseyedawn. That's the good thing about you, Sensei.”

 

“What?”

 

“You talk to me normal. Like adults talking to other adults, but you're funny too. Your puppets and your glass frogs and stuff. You're interesting.”

 

Midorima thought about that for a moment, not sure whether to be offended or complimented. He settled for politeness.

 

“Thank you. I think you're quite agreeable for a child as well.”

 

He doubted Akemi understood what that meant, but she raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly, getting back to her painting and the fact that Dr. Oikawa must eat red onions stuff with garlic and wrapped in leeks.

 

* * *

 

 

Midorima checked with Akemi's nurse to make sure she had eaten dinner. She had and was asleep when Midorima was able to clock out for the night. He switched into his street clothes and locked his locker. The hospital was beginning to quiet down, most of the children and the elderly patients having gone to sleep. It was also dinner time, and accidents seemed to happen less at that time at night. Midorima exited a relatively peaceful hospital, debating whether to buy dinner from a convenience store or to ask for takeout from a family restaurant. He was deciding which way to go home when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Again. Midorima dug into his pocket exasperatedly only to be stopped when a sing-song voice called out,

 

“Excuse me! It's an emergency! I'm looking for a sexy doctor but I can't find any!” A bicycle came quietly skidding to a halt in front of him. It took the bike a moment to come to a complete stop, so when it finally did, Midorima found himself staring wide-eyed at a forty-five-degree-angel view of Takao's face.

 

“Whew,” Takao huffed, shifting around on the seat to look at Midorima. There was a slight sheen of sweat near his hairline and it glistened in the dull night light of the hospital.

 

“Hey, there. You look like you could use a good ride. Let me drive you crazy,” Takao verbally winked.

 

Midorima didn't know whether to yell, berate, or protest first. “...How did you know this is my place of employment,” was the first thing that came out of Midorima's traitor mouth.

 

“I asked Kise.”

 

Midorima would do more than maim the loose-lipped cretin next time he saw him.

 

“And you thought it would be appropriate to wait for me, in front of my workplace, with that....contracption?”

 

“Hey, this is a sweet ride. I wanted to paint it gold and put metal rock unicorns on it but the coach wouldn't let me. But, it's late, I figured it'd be okay if I came to pick you up. No one's coming to visit at this time,” Takao motioned to the empty parking lot.

 

“How did you know what time my shift ended?”

 

“Ah, well, I didn't. Just that it was sometime in the evening. Actually, I've been circling around the hospital for almost an hour. I'm lucky I didn't miss you, now that I think about it...” Takao added as if that were the biggest issue with what he had done. “But don't worry, I didn't bother anyone. The bike and cart are actually really quiet. I did see one old lady looking out her window and I waved to her and she waved back so I think it was okay.”

 

Midorima sat stunned. How someone could have so much _nerve_. The blatant disregard for...for...the injured and ill.

 

“Anyway, hop on. Take advantage of this limited time only offer for a personal chauffer for the night. I'll take you home,” Takao leaned an arm on the handle bars. “Maybe soon? Sitting like this is super uncomfortable, but I can't risk not looking cool. My spine is at your mercy.”

 

“...Will you leave me be if I say no?”

 

“Naw.”

 

“This is limited time only? Only tonight?”

 

“Yep!”

 

“Good. I'll hold you to that,” Midorima said, circling around. He could see the corner of Takao's frown turn into something like a grin. “If you hit any bumps, I'll show you my skill with a scalpel,” Midorima stated matter-of-factly as he climbed into the cart.

 

“Yes, Sir! Only...”

 

“What.”

 

“You'll have to give me directions. I came here cuz it was close to where I was working earlier. I don't know how to get to your place.”

 

Midorima breathed deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth.

 

“South,” he bit out lowly.

 

“Got it!”

 

The cart jerked forward for a split second before it started to roll smoothly. What looked like a medical kit and an industrial-sized pack of cooling compresses competed for room in the cart with Midorima and lost, his long legs taking the majority of the space in the shambling wood box.

 

Midorima bartered with himself. He knew if he started a conversation, Takao would probably assume that meant he wanted to talk. A lot. The night air was chilly but crisp and it felt refreshing after the stuffiness of the hospital. Midorima sat, watching the scenery roll by, listening to the rhythm of the cart's wheels. He felt tense and suddenly aware of how absurb they must look. Midorima glanced again at the items in the corner. His curiousity got the better of him.

 

“Takao.”

 

“What? I can't hear you.”

 

“Takao,” Midorima said louder against the light wind.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What is your profession?”

 

“Oh,” Midorima could hear the smile in his voice, “I wondered when you were gonna ask. I'm a sports therapist.”

 

Everything seemed to click. To make sense.

 

“Then, is that how you met Kise?”

 

“Huh? Oh, naw. I met him at a club in Osaka.”

 

...or not. Midorima should have learned to expect the unexpected by now.

 

“I recognized him from the basketball magazines and we hit it off,” Takao continued. Midorima felt a muscle tense in his neck. They went over a bump and he bounced against the wall of the cart sharply. Midorima wanted to ask. But he didn't want the answer. “Kise's always yapping on about you guys though. His old teammates. Especially Kuroko. Sometimes he talks about you too. Mostly whining about how you hate him though,” Takao laughed.

 

“I don't hate him.”

 

“Yes you do.”

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

Takao snorted. “Which way?”

 

“Left,” Midorima turned slightly, so he could see the back of Takao. Takao had fairly wide shoulders, and toned arms, as he had noted before. But his legs, Midorima realized, were also firmly sculpted, his calves long and lean, his quads and hamstrings thick and tight, most likely from a lot of jumping. Midorima listened to the sound of the cart closer and realized Takao was humming something under his breath. A different some than before. In a passing light, Midorima saw a bead of sweat stumble down Takao's throat. Despite the coolness of the late Autumn night, Takao was in a light jacket and still sweating. Midorima sat back, tuning his ears to the awkward and too-eager notes of Takao's humming.

 

“Takao.”

 

“Yeah? Which way?”

 

“I need to stop at a convenience store.”

 

“Ah, sure! I think I see one on the next block.”

 

Midorima was slightly surprised that Takao had given into his whim so easily.

 

“I've been busy,” Midorima stated.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Work. The hospital. I've been very busy.”

 

Takao was silent for a moment, veering off to the left to pull into the bike space of convenience store parking lot.

 

Takao straightened up and leaned onto the bars. He turned his head slightly, so Midorima could just catch the glint of one eye.

 

“Gotcha. Totally understandable. Helping people and saving lives isn't a fit schedule type of gig.”

 

Midorima looked at Takao, bangs falling and obscuring that blue eye. Midorima nodded, subtly.

 

Takao sat up and stretched his arms out, arcing his back. “To tell the truth though, I was eighty percent sure you were just avoiding me. I figured maybe I'd pissed you off or embarrassed you and you didn't want to talk to me again. This cart was my last-ditch effort. I figured if you didn't accept a ride, I'd leave you be and never bother you again. But if you agreed to ride in something so ridiculous, maybe I'd still have a chance?”

 

“...So you are aware that it's ridiculous.”

 

“Yup. But it's also kinda badass if you think about it. For you, at least. I just look like a trained monkey.”

 

“I'll be back,” Midorima climbed out of the cart. Takao saluted him. Midorima heard the beginnings of the Doraemon theme song being whistled as the door of the convenience chimed his entry.

 

It would be easy with Takao. Takao _was_ pushy, but he also seemed to be aware of his standing and, while nearly constantly making Midorima uneasy, Takao had nearly almost always tested the waters, now that Midorima thought about it. He'd just been too obtuse to notice. Perhaps flirting was Takao's way of warning Midorima, and Midorima had never objected, so Takao had taken that as a go sign. In that case, while Midorima had never instigated (and never would) anything, Takao hadn't been wrong. So why had Midorima avoided Takao so thoroughly? It would be easy with Takao. He could tell Takao to not come to his workplace anymore, and he was sure Takao would listen. Everything was light with Takao. Unexpected, but uncomplicated. Midorima got the feeling that if anything were to happen, if Midorima were to suddenly object to or reject Takao, it would probably be laughed off, taken in stride, and Takao would disappear. Takao was warm, transparent about his thoughts, and observant.

 

He would make a suitable lover.

 

Midorima did something for the first, and last time in his life. He stood in the aisle, before a small section of shelf, contemplating the features and sizes of comdom brands.

 

Feeling his face slowly begin to heat, Midorima selected two boxes at random, throwing them into his basket along with several onigiri, a pre-made soba dish, and a bottle of green tea. Midorima glanced out the window while the cashier rang him up, making sure that Takao wasn't looking. Indeed, Takao seemed to be fiddling with the bell on the bike handles. Midorima let out a breath of air he didn't realize he'd been holding.

 

“Hey, all set?” Takao looked up and beamed at him as Midorima came out of the store. Midorima blinked. He didn't think anyone had ever looked like that, not at him. Maybe once, when his sister had been young, but it had been years...

 

“Yes,”

 

“Cool, hop in.”

 

“Takao.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“...It's nothing.”

 

Takao looked at Midorima blankly for a moment, then smiled. “Okay. Hop in, the Takao Limited Express is departing. All cars are reserved seating.”

 

“Takao, shut up,” Midorima sat down in the cart.

 

“Yessir, departing now.”

 

Midorima gave Takao the next direction and sat back, watching Takao pedal, his bangs moving lightly in the wind. “How was work today? Did you see Akemi?”

 

Midorima explained that, the last few days, Akemi's outlook had seemed to change a bit for the better and she was working with her PTs. Suddenly, Midorima had an idea.

 

“Ta-”

 

“Hey, I mean, I know I'm not staff or anything, so maybe I wouldn't be allowed in but...do you want me to talk to her? I work with injured athletes. I've seen athletes recover from some pretty bad stuff. Maybe I could tell her some success stories? Give her some motivation?”

 

Midorima glanced against at Takao's face, suddenly annoyed that he wasn't able to see it.

 

“Yes, I believe that would be a good idea.” Midorima said quietly. Takao seemed to hear anyway.

 

“Sweet, just let me know when would be a good time.”

 

“Perhaps I could bring her outside and you could speak in the courtyard outside the hospital...” Midorima trailed off, wondering how he could give Akemi the benefit of speaking to Takao while still following hospital regulations.

 

“Ah, here we are. This is it, right?” The cart came to a slow halt. Midorima hadn't realized that they had been so close to his building. Midorima gathered his things and exited the cart. He turned to face Takao, but Takao was already watching him, leaning on the handlebars.

 

“Made it here before it turned into a pumpkin,” Takao nodded back at the cart. “Let me know if you ever want a ride again. I work near the hospital on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. I'll pick you up,” Takao grinned.

 

“Takao.”

 

“Hm?”

 

Midorima suddenly had chills. He had to grip his bag and the plastic convenience store bag in his hands to still them.

 

“Woul you like....”

 

Takao blinked, waiting.

 

“Would you like to....”

 

Understanding seemed to flash over Takao's eyes.

 

“You think I could come up for a glass of water? I got kinda thirsty carting the princess around,” Takao stood up, stretching his neck.

 

Midorima frowned. “While I see no princess here, I suppose. If you insist.”

 

Takao grinned, wide, warm, his eyes scrunching up at the corners, wrinkles forming by the corners of his mouth.

 

“Well then--”

 

“Shintarou,” a calm, cool voice interrupted. Midorima nearly dropped the plastic bag. Takao's face turned curiously and Midorima followed his gaze to a form that was approaching, a dark car behind it, a driver closing the door. The red stood out against the black.

 

“Woah,” Midorima heard Takao whisper.

 

“Good evening,” Akashi greeted Midorima, locking eyes with him directly. “I sent you a message before, but you didn't respond.”

 

Midorima gulped. He hadn't checked the message he'd gotten when Takao had pulled up in his ridiculous cart.

 

“...but I see it was because you're busy. I hope I haven't interrupted,” Akashi said politely, finally turning his eyes on Takao. Takao, to his credit, didn't flinch, only blinked several times.

 

“Shintarou, have you forgotten your manners? Won't you introduce us?”

 

“I--” Midorima stuttered.

 

“I'm Takao Kazunari,” Takao volunteered his hand, his smile notably different than the one Midorima had seen moments before.

 

Akashi clasped Takao's offered hand, as briefly as could be considered to not be outright rude. “Akashi Seijuurou.”

 

“I watch all of the Vorpal Sword games,” Takao smiled. It was a smile Midorima had never seen before, Takao's lips pursed slightly.

 

Akashi stared at Takao as if he wasn't seeing him entirely, yet completely. Midorima knew that look. Akashi was gauging Takao, seeing him but not seeing him, measuring him, comparing him, evaluating, and rating him. “Do you? Thank you, Kazunari. Please continue to lend us your support in the future.”

 

“Of course,” Takao nodded politely, his face darkening a little.

 

Midorima glanced from Takao to Akashi. Akashi was looking at Takao intently. Takao was meeting his gaze with an unreadable quirk of the lips.

 

“Takao...there are some things I need to discuss with Akashi,” Midorima stated firmly, but without looking at Takao. For some reason, he didn't want to see what expression Takao would make.

 

“Ah, yeah. Right. It's probably been a while... It was nice to meet you, Akashi. I'll let you two catch up. See you later.”

 

Takao situated himself properly back onto his bike. He waved and the cart jerked forward. Midorima watched Takao's back become smaller and smaller, the sound of the bicycle fading.

 

“You're looking well. A bit worn, but healthy,” Akashi observed, pulling Midorima's attention away from the disappearing bike light. It wasn't a question.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You won't invite me up for tea?”

 

“...Yes, of course. I was only surprised to see you.”

 

“If you had checked your messages, you wouldn't have been.”

 

Midorima nodded. “While I'm sure it will pale in comparrison to the better teas in Kyoto, but I have some genmaicha from Mie. Or I have sencha from Kagoshima.”

 

“You know I'm partial to genmaicha.”

 

“I know,” Midorima agreed, finding it uncomfortable to breathe. His heart seemed to be stopping and going indiscriminately.

 

They rode the elevator in silence. Midorima unlocked the door and Akashi stepped in. Midorima was glad his house cleaner had come the day before. Akashi let himself in and sat down on the couch. Midorima went to the kitchen, watching Akashi from the corner of his eye as he prepared tea and some cookies he'd received as a souvenier from a doctor (residents didn't have time to take a day of vacation).

 

Midorima took the tea and snack over and placed it on the low coffee table. He held out Akashi's cup for him. Akashi reached out, wrapping his hand around Midorima's, Midorima unable to move lest he spill the tea.

 

“How is work at the hospital, Shintarou?”

 

“Adequate,” Midorima swallowed. Akashi's hand was cooler, far smoother, and smaller than Takao's, yet it felt like Akashi was gripping his entire body.

 

Akashi stared him in the eyes, loosening his grip, letting his fingers trail over Midorima's, to the cup. “And how is your performance?” Akashi took the cup from Midorima's hand and Midorima backed away, sitting into the chair across from Akashi.

 

“Adequate,” Midorima said stiffly.

 

“Only?” Akashi raised a fine eyebrow, sipping the tea with both hands.

 

“My performance is satisfactory for my superiors,” Midorima stated, wary, but also indignant.

 

Akashi smiled, slight, delicate. “That's funny. I've heard your performance exceeds expectation. I believe a doctor even called it 'stellar'.”

 

Midorima took that in, all its implications in turn.

 

“Did my father ask you to come here,” Midorima surprised himself by asking. Normally, he wouldn't say anything on the matter, leaving it be. He knew Akashi liked to keep tabs on all of the past team members, and he knew that Akashi sometimes had contact with his father. They had been friends at one point, after all. At least, Midorima had thought they were. At one point, a part of him wished that maybe Akashi paid extra attention to what he did. The thought of disappointing Akashi had been a needle in his side, and the thought of impressing him had been a thrill. That was when Midorima had wondered whether the respect and friendship he felt for Akashi could perhaps be something more. That was before Akashi had changed.

 

“My father ran into him and asked how you have been doing, seeing as you don't send me updates anymore. I merely came to make sure it was true that you were conquering your residency,” Akashi smiled lightly. “And you must be if you have time to play around. You're so diligent, after all.”

 

“I wasn't playing around. I received a ride home from work.”

 

“Yes, quite ingenius transportation.

 

“It's merely a sports cart. I believe the track and field team had one of those carts at Teikou,” Midorima said quietly. It's more to my taste than wasting time and monetary resources on public transportation.”

 

“I wasn't referring to the cart,” Akashi took another sip of his tea.

 

Midorima frowned into his tea, attempting to keep his heart and face still.

 

“He must be quite a person to have acquired your trust and reliance for transportation to work. And done so quickly. I don't recognize him.”

 

“Don't let my relations and acquaintances concern you.”

 

Akashi leaned forward, placing his hand on Miodrima's knee, staring at him, one eye glinting gold. Midorima felt a flutter in his stomach and also the urge to run.

 

“Of course I worry about my dear friend. I could arrange for you to have a car pick you up and take you to work.”

 

“You live three prefectures away.”

 

“True, but if you wish it, it will be done. If I am able to help in your ability to perform your best, I am more than willing to do so.”

 

“Thank you for your offer. If I find I require it, I will contact you.”

 

“Please do,” Akashi sat back in his chair, taking another sip of tea. Midorima mirrored him, taking a drink that was too long.

 

“...And how are you?” perhaps Midroima could deflect Akashi's attention from himself. That, and, a part of Midorima was pained to realize, he actually wanted to know.

 

Akashi smiled. “Adequate. The team members have been having some issues lately. Geniuses clashing and all. I'm letting them work out some energy before I put a stop to it.” There was something very final and promising in Akashi's words. Midorima had no doubt that any infighting would not last long once Akashi had decided it was enough. Akashi had never made that decision at Teikou and, Midorima had thought, that was what had ruined everyone. Yet, there they were, all still doing well, even if not in areas expected.

 

They sat in silence as Akashi finished his tea. How long had it been since Midorima had seen Akashi? A year and three months. Much had happened. Midorima had gotten through a year of residency at a different hospital and come to his current one. He had worked ER, pediatrics, even triage and the maternity ward once. He'd vomited in an alley. He'd met Takao. Midorima pictured Takao pedalling off again and a nauseous nest began to form in his stomach.

 

'Well, as it is already late and I must be in Nara tomorrow morning, I'll take my leave,” Akashi stood up, somehow making it look crisp and simultaneously leisurely. More than Kagami or Aomine, Akashi was like a predetorial cat. Beautiful and bewitching to watch, like a cobra dancing, a panther's tail swinging before a pounce.

 

As Akashi stood and straightened out his dress shirt under his vest, Midorima felt a wave of relief wash over him. He walked Akashi to the door, watching Akashi slip on his shoes effortlessly.

 

“You do know,” Akashi turned to him, and even though Midorima was standing on raised ground, Akashi felt much larger. “There is always a spot for you on Vorpol Sword. You need only ask,” Akashi said, making it seem like it was at once a favor but also a given. Akashi turned to the door to open it.

 

“Akashi,” Midorima blurted out before he could stop himself. Akashi turned, calm but expectant. “I...I am satisfied now. Where I am. I admit, at first, I was not.” It may have been his imagination, but Midorima thought he saw a line of victory shimmer across Akashi's face momentarily. “But, sometimes you can't predict or prevent Fate. You can only try to do what you think is best at the time and work as hard as you can to live with your decisions. You have to work with what you have, and make it the best it can be.” Midorima thought of Akemi and her physical therapy. Her love of soccer. How he wanted to make sure she could keep that love, or find a new one even better.

 

“I am in a place that I predicted and worked for, but it is not exactly what I expected, and it never will be.” Midorima took a large breath, narrowing his eyes. “I...am happy where I am.” As he said it, Midorima realized, with a blow, that it was true.

 

Akashi's eyes burrowed into Midorima's, their colors burning. Akashi closed them slowly, nodding once. He looked at Midorima, his eyes smoldering embers. “It's not considerable, but you've changed. Next time, I'll have to request a shogi match.”

 

Midroima pushed up his glasses. “Of course.”

 

Akashi opened the door for himself and stepped out into the corridor. Midorima thought he saw the barest corner of a smile as the door closed and the lock clicked into place automatically.

 

Midorima walked back to the kitchen, feeling unstable on his feet. He did something unprecedented—poured himself a glass of wine from a bottle he'd received a few years earlier—and sat down on the couch to gaze out the window. His apartment was clean, and completely silent except for the sound of his own breathing.

 

For possibly the first time in his life, Midorima craved noise. Something intrusive and distracting. He turned on the television that was only ever used in the mornings for Oha-asa. It glowed to life sleepily, finally waking with a laughter from a variety show. Midorima changed the channel. He had only two programmed into the remote. The channel for Oha-asa, and the sports reporting channel. He switched to the sports channel and sat back, leaning into the couch, his long legs sprawoling under the coffee table. Two sports reporters were talking about a game two days before when an Evessa player had sustained an ankle injury. Midorima leaned forward and his eyes narrowed, focusing on the faces running onto the court, as if he would see blank bangs and sharp blue eyes. He scanned the people, the crowd, and saw nothing. Of course not. Why would Takao be there? He was a sports therapist. Not an emergency EMT or medical staff of the arena. Midorima realized he didn't even know if Takao worked with basketball players. Takao could specialize in certain types of injuries or impairments, too. Midorima didn't know anything besides the vaguest, most general knowledge, and yet it seemed that Takao knew much about him.

 

Midorima realized that the reason for that was possibly because he had never _asked._

 

The few conversation that they had had, Takao had made up the majority of it. Asking questions, making comments, talking incessantly so that Midorima only had to listen and chime a few words and Takao would take care of the rest. Unlike speaking to Akashi, Midorima never felt that Takao was waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to make a mistake. Takao took what information Midorima offered and filled the rest of the gaps in the conversation genially and without complaint.

 

Midorima thought of how his breathing had become labored and his heart had beat sporadically when Akashi was there. It wasn't a positive excitement. It was the type of thrill one would feel when faced with a wild, dangerous animal. As if his body was in panic or flight mode. The warm, hard beating his heart had done around Takao...well, perhaps his perception was skewed because of...certain activities they had done at the time, but Takao's prescence was warm and unintrusive, despite being something that one could not ignore. It called attention, but did not demand it.

 

Midorima took a long sip of his wine, watching replays of various games that had happened that week, remembering how Takao's eyes lit up in the bar while watching the game. If watching at home, Takao would most certainly be the type to shout and cheer at the television. It would be annoying. Distracting. But also present and human.

 

Midorima took another sip of wine. He flipped back to the other channel. It was a commercial for a cell phone company with some lonesome, longing song in the background. He flipped back to the sports channel, not entirely surprised to see Kagami slamming a basketball into a hoop with enthusiasm.

 

Midorima watched as the channel covered several of his past teammates' games. At some point, through his second glass of wine, and into a report on judo, Midorima fell asleep. He woke up several hours from a dream in which Takao licked had been licking wine from his fingers. Midorima got up, washed his face, slid into his nightclothes, and found his way to his bed, where he slept dreamlessly the rest of the night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The blaring of Beethoven's 7 th  symphony woke him up far too early. Midorima's head felt heavy and his limbs like they were attached to someone else. He managed to extricate himself from his sheets and ready himself for work. He went into his living area, the TV turning on automatically, in time for Oha-asa.

 

Cancer ranked sixth. Lucky item: a memo pad, lucky color: blue. Midorima left the TV on, listening as he made himself a cup of very hot tea, hoping minorly scalding his tongue would stimulate his nerves and wake him up. His father would have yelled at him. He was removing an apple from the refrigerator when the TV caught his attention again. Scorpio, ranked 10 th . Lucky item: a mug, lucky color: brown. Midorima wondered vaguely if Takao owned any mugs.

 

While Midorima stood eating the apple something on the counter caught his eye and he realized he had never properly put away the items he had bought in the convenience store. The idea of Akashi at all possibly seeing that Midorima had bought condoms was absolutely horrifying and Midorima had left the items concealed in the bag. Midorima threw away the onigiri inside, put the tea in the refridgerator, and glanced at the boxes of condoms accusingly as if it were all their latex-free fault. Midorima left them in the bag and tossed them in the corner near his trash can.

 

He grabbed his coat, bag, and cellphone. The previous night's message from Akashi remained unopened. There were no others. Midorima went to work, patting his pockets to make sure he had the porcelain frog on him.

 

The rest of the day, Midorima received no messages nor calls. He also received the news that two of the nurses who had been out with flu were back, and he wouldn't be required to work in the children's wing any longer. Midorima wanted to insist that he didn't mind, but Dr. Tamai had hunted him down and asked him to assist him with paperwork that had piled up. Midorima hadn't realized he'd been looking forward to seeing Akemi, but when he realized he wouldn't, a sharp annoyance spread itself out to his limbs, making him restless.

 

Seven hours into his shift, Midorima was finally able to take a break. He knew he was hungry and needed sustenance but his stomach was knotted. Midorima sat at the break room table, glancing at his cell phone. He checked the messages twice. He brought up Line, then closed it. Then opened it again. Finally he decided he was required to send a message, if only to be polite. He began typing.

 

 _Takao, please forg—_ deleted Then:

 

_Even though it was unwanted, your arrival with the cart was—deleted._

 

 _I apologize for sending you off so—_ deleted.

 

 _While your ambush of me after work was annoying—_ deleted.

 

 _Thank you for delivering me home last night—_ deleted.

 

Midorima raised his glasses up and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumbs. He took a drink of his black tea and set his jaw. He typed purposefully.

 

 _I apologize for last night. Thank you for taking me home._ Before he could second-guess himself again, he hit the send button. As soon as it popped up on his screen, he felt himself redden. It was the type of message his sister would call 'lame'. But Midorima didn't have time to worry over diction. He had fifteen minutes of his break left and he intended to sleep for the rest of it.

 

Takao did not reply.

 

When Midorima left the hospital ten hours later, his phone was silent and dark. Midorima looked around the parking lot, ears straining for any sounds of a bicycle, but there was nothing. Midorima frowned and pocketed his phone. Somewhere in the distance, an ambulance was either coming or going. He headed home in the quiet night.

 

The next day, Takao still hadn't responded. Cancer was ranked eighth. Scorpio, Midorima heard passively, was ranked last, with advice to 'take extra precaution' from the announcer. Midorima put his lucky dried flower, and the porcelain frog, in his pocket.

 

Midorima had not been able to see Akemi again. The day passed like remarkable slow with piles of paperwork, cleanup, and a few visits to patients accompanying Dr. Tamai. Ten years later, Midorima found a suitable spot to pause in his work and take lunch break. It was 2pm. Takao had still not responded. Takao could be angry at Midorima for some reason. Perhaps Takao thought it was unforgivably rude for Midorima to shoo him off when Akashi appeared. Perhaps Takao didn't believe it was worth responding.

 

The morning's Oha-asa rang through Midorima's head. Perhaps Takao had beeen in an accident. One severe enough to disable him from replying. Midorima knew, if luck was not on your side, the possible fatality of a day ranked last place.

 

Or Takao's phone could have broken. Not wanting to bother Takao with another message, Midorima did something that he knew he would regret: he called Kise.

 

Kise picked up on the third ring, breathing hard. Midorima hoped to all hell that he hadn't interrupted one of Kise's dates with a Soundcloud DJ that he liked to ramble about so often.

 

“Midorimacchi! This is a surprise! I never thought that y--”

 

“Kise, I have a question.”

 

“Uh, shoot! What is it?”

 

“Have you spoken to Takao?”

 

“Takaocchi? No...”

 

Midorima's heart sank for a second.

 

“...but I've been in Hokkaido. I'm gonna play against Murasakibaracchi. Why? Is something wrong? Did you fight with takao?”

 

“No, we did not.”

 

“You did, didn't you? Takaocchi's a great guy, and super nice, so you have to be careful. He has a great sense of humor so if anyone can take your grumpy personality, it'd be him, but even so you gotta be careful. You can be pretty hurtful sometimes.”

 

“I'm not grumpy. And you think everyone is hurtful.”

 

“I'm a sensitive person!”

 

Midorima made no reply, merely scoffing into the phone.

 

“Anyway, I gotta go, but make sure you apologize to Takaocchi! Bye!”

 

“ _I didn't do any--_ ” Midorima was cut off by the click of Kise's disconnection. Midorima frowned at the phone, placing it on the table with a bit too much energy. Another resident eating near him jumped.

 

“Excuse me,” Midorima murmured, biting into his protein bar. As Midorima should have known, Kise had been completely useless. Midorima waged a war with his cell phone, staring at it. Midorima was not a patient person, but he was also not a desperate person. He would wait. Either Takao was unable to contact him, or Takao did not want to. Time would tell. Midorima would deal with either situation as called for and forget about Takao completely if necessary.

 

“Um, Midorima,” a voice intertupted Midorima's musings, cutting in with a shrill nervousness. It was the female resident from before. What was her name? Midorima looked up at her. She was blushing and twirling a strand of her hair. “Some of us are gonna go to the bar again tonight. We were wondering if you want to join?”

 

Midorima looked at her, she must have been his age but she looked young, her hair permed, her above-average bust showing through the loose-hanging scrubs.

 

“I'm sorry, I have a previous engagement tonight,” Midorima said, standing up.

 

“Ah, okay. Next time then,” she said.

 

“Yes, next time,” Midorima echoed.

 

Midorima tossed his can of red bean soup away, with some still left in it. He went back to work, but not before depositing his cellphone in his locker.

 

Midorima passed the next few hours on paperwork, until a nurse asked if he would take a file to the children's ward that a doctor wanted for reference. Midorima nearly jumped at the opportunity. He no doubt surprised the nurse who probably expected him to agree ruefully. Midorima took the files to the nurses' station two floors below. He greeted the nurse there and exchanged pleasantries until he finally was able to politely ask what he wanted. The status of Akemi Kawamura. The nurse smiled.

 

“I heard you really helped with her when I was out. Would you like to peek in quickly? She should be eating dinner about now.”

 

Midorima thanked her and said he would show himself the way. He knocked lightly on the wall near the door and walked in, almost happy to hear the solid _crunch_ beneath his feat. Midorima looked down. A blue macaroni noodle had been obliterated. Midorima crunched his way over to Akemi, fully aware that Akemi was purposefully ignoring him. He was two steps from her bed when his foot his a pile of macaroni, the non-stick of his work shoes ineffective on the tops of mobile noodles.

 

Midorima fell splendidly.

 

As he landed, there was a chorus of crunching and something slightly tinnier.

 

Midorima lay on the floor, dazed, for a moment before his basketball training kicked in and he recovered himself in one swift movement. He situated his glasses back evenly on his nose so he could see properly and was greeted with the sight of Akemi looking like she was about to vomit.

 

Midorima reached out to grab the trash can near the bed and moved quickly, but wasn't fast enough. Akemi burst out in a peal of laughter so loud and so at his expense, it would have been on par with Takao's.

 

“Doctor,” Akemi wheezed, “you're slow,” she chuckled, “I've been waiting you know.” As Midorima dusted himself off Akemi got ahold of herself.

 

“I apologize. I was moved to a different area of the hospital.”

 

Akemi wiped a stray tear from her eye, turning slightly pink with the effort to not laugh again.

 

“You didn't tell me. You just left,” she said. Midorima was shocked to find that there was a very small but very real tinge of disappointment in it.

 

“I know. I'm very sorry. I...I would like to be able to visit you every day if I could.”

 

“Why can't you?”

 

“Because...I'm not a real doctor. Not yet. So I have to go where the doctors need me.”

 

Akemi, to his surprise, didn't seem to care, completely brushing over what he had said.

 

“The kid doctors don't need you?”

 

“That's up to them, unfortunately.”

 

Akemi sat back on her bed, and, for the first time, a childish look crossed her face. Midorima realized she was pouting. He pulled a chair over closer to his bed and moved to sit down...

 

…only to shoot back up instantly when a sharp pain erupted in his thigh.

 

“What's wrong,” Akemi raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“I don't know...” Midorima patted at his thighs, only then realizing there was something hard and sharpin his pocket. Multiple things. Midorima reached in carefully and Akemi leaned forward to look. He pulled out a large sliver of white and green painted ceramic.

 

A sudden chill ran down Midorima's spine. He pulled out another piece, identifying it as part of a small frog's eye. Attempting to control his breathing and heartrate, Midorima pulled out more pieces. The frog, like the macaroni, had been a victim of his fall. Midorima stared at the pieces in his hand.

 

“...What is it,” Akemi asked quietly.

 

Midorima looked up at her, blinking. “It was...something important.” As he said it, Midorima realized it was true.

 

“I'm sorry,” Akemi moved as if to get out of bed, a sign that despite what she thought, she hadn't gotten used to her situation. Good, Midorima thought, if she wasn't letting it eat at her, she could adapt and overcome more quickly.

 

“No--” Midorima stopped her. “It's not your fault. I've been carrying it around for weeks. It was foolish of me to do that. Something would have happened to it eventually.”

 

“...I'm sorry,” Akemi said again, but this time it was sympathy.

 

“It's fine,” Midorima took the pieces (thankfully it hadn't shattered into tiny bits) and a tissue from the bedstand by Akemi. He wrapped the pieces in them and threw them into the small trash can. “I can always purchase another one.”

 

Midorima sat back down and crossed his legs, looking pointedly at Akemi. “Now, tell me why that plate of dinner is still full,” he said sharply. Akemi did her best to look blameless and Midorima, still feeling the tinge of pain in his thigh, tried to hold back a slowly expanding sense of dread.

 

* * *

 

 

The problem with cellphones is that they will always win a staring contest. Midorima sighed and prepared himself to do something even more stupid than relying on Kise. Everything in his body fought against the idea. He felt his eye twitch. If he did this, it would be impossible to wave off or dismiss as a mistake or joke. But He would write a message that, if Takao saw, he would not be able to ignore.

 

Midorima swallowed. Never, would he had ever thought he would do something like this. Let alone at work. But when Takao hadn't responded the rest of the night, Midorima had looked outside and seen not one but three black cats in the hospital parking lot, and storm clouds had gathered, blocking out the moon, Midorima couldn't ignore the signs. He was clearly being warned. Midorima did all he could to make sure luck was on his side, he did what he could with the wiggle room that free will offered, but in the end he could not fight Fate. If Fate was telling him something so strongly, he would be an absolute fool to ignore it.

 

Midorima had one hour left on his shift. That would give adequate time for Takao to reply. And, if he hadn't encountered some cateclysmic event, Midorima was sure Takao would reply. And if he didn't...well, Midorima would take appropriate action. And so, his whole body objecting, Midorima typed out and sent the message:

 

_Takao, I wish to perform the act of sexual intercourse with you. Please send your response, stat._

 

 

It would be incredibly embarrassing and only somewhat true for Midorima to realize that his initial reaction was that he was offended when his shift ended and there was no reply from Takao. It would be equally embarrassing and a loss of composure if the second reaction was to feel a hot spear of panic surge through him.

 

Midorima took it slowly, logically.

 

He messaged Kise.

 

Okay, not so logically then.

 

 _You're still fighting?!! No, I haven't heard from Takaocchi_ was Kise's worrying and annoying response.

 

Midorima, to his chagrin, realized that he knew very little about Takao. He knew he was a sports therapist. He did not know where Takao worked. He knew Takao either rode the subway or biked home. He did not know where Takao lived. He had Takao's phone number.

 

Midorima frowned, listening to a enragingly calm woman tell him that the owner of the phone was either out of service range or had turned off their phone; he could press 1 to leave a mess, 2 to—Midorima hung up. Instinctually, he reached into his pocket, only to remember that the frog had shattered hours before.

 

What else did he know about Takao? Kisses flooded his mind. Basketball. Shining eyes. The taste of alcohol. The heat of Takao's mouth...

 

Midorima searched for one of the fifteen contacts in his cell phone. Five very nervous seconds later, a cab pulled up. Midorima twitched as the automatic door opened and closed slowly behind him. He barked the location of the bar to the driver and sat back.

 

Midorima watched the city roll by, the lights blurring, surrounded by halos. Midorima had bad night vision. Takao on the other hand had seemed completely unaffected when he'd given Midorima a ride home at night, even in the unlit parts of streets. Eagle eyes. Midorima messed with the tips of his left hand fingers. When there was no tape there to worry, he opted for drumming his immaculate nails on the undoubtedly dirty cab seat. It made a hollow noise that he didn't quite hear.

 

He went over the Oha-asa, repeating it like a mantra in his head. Scorpio. 12 th  rank. Lucky item: wheel. Lucky color: green. Midorima suddenly was caught, debating whether to tell the driver to drop him at a store he knew was open 24 hours. Perhaps he could find a minature car that was green. Bring it. Takao undoubtedly had not prepared himself. Midorima stared at the clock on the dashboard of the taxi, calculating how long it would take.

 

It wasn't worth it. There were two more hours left in the day. If he could make it to Takao... If Takao hadn't already been hurt or something bad hadn't happened, then he could take Takao to the store to find his lucky item. Yes, that was a logical plan.

 

The cab pulled up to a stop across from the bar and Midorima itched while waiting for the driver to take payment.

 

Midorima rushed out of the cab. And had to wait to for cars to stop coming in order to cross the street. He took the moment to compose himself, taking a few deep, relaxing breaths. He would look for Takao. If Takao was not there, he would ask the bartender. They had seemed to be close.

 

When the road was clear, Midorima crossed in long strides, opening the heavy wooden door. Inside there were many people gathered under the TVs and crowding the bar. Midorima's spirits rose, a warm feeling moving up from his stomach when he realized that there was the very end of a basketball game on the televisions. It was Friday night.

 

Midorima scanned the room, looking for shining black hair, listening for a high, piercing laugh, a glint of eyes, a mischievous white grin...

 

...and saw none of those things.

 

Midorima waded through the people, using his height to his advantage. He walked the length of the bar, bodily forcing his way through groups of beerishly excited people. He scanned again, turning around where he stood, listening for a voice that rose and fell, nasally and deep. He looked for the sway of long, parted bangs.

 

Nothing.

 

As if to bring him back to reality, the cut from the glass frog stung him.Midorima looked over to the bar. Instead of the man from before, two younger people were standing behind the bar, filling glasses with Kirin and Asahi from taps. Midorima's mind spun, trying to think what to next. Kise didn't know. The bartender wasn't there. Takao's phone went directly to voicemail. Midorima didn't know what else to--

 

With a feeling that was like being fouled while in mid-jump, Midorima felt his stomach sink to the floor. It stayed there and knotted, folding in on itself. There was one place Midorima hadn't checked.

 

Midorima pushed his way through groups of bodies, forgetting to apologize. He made his way to the back of the bar, past the toilet, and pushed open the door to the alley.

 

Midorima stepped out of the door, a shadow in the corner of his eye catching his attention immediately. Midorima felt something in his chest, that he hadn't realized was gathering explode. He turned, knowing he would not like what he saw.

 

Except that he didn't see what he expected to.

 

There was a dark, odd-shaped shadow against the brick wall, too awkward and long to be a person. Midorima approached it. There was a tarp haphazardly flung over it. Takao was not there.

 

Midorima felt the battling senses of relief and dread collide him. He turned to leave. And then the glint of metal caught his eye. The glint of metal spokes. Of bicycle wheels.

 

Midorima marched up to the shadow, reached out, and tore the tarp away to uncover a very familiar bicycle with a wooden cart attached to it.

 

Midorima stared at the cart, the cold drying his widened eyes. Midorima turned quickly, looking left and right. No one was in the alley. If the cart was there then...

 

“And here I thought you liked me for my rouguishly handsome and chiseled features, but you're just after my ride.”

 

Midorima's body froze. The tarp slipped out of his fingers, wrinkling loudly to the ground, almost covering the sound of feeting walking over the small debris and pebbles in the alley. “Typical,” Takao said next to him.

 

Midorima turned slowly, looking down past shining black hair, bangs moving slightly in the breeze, and into eyes gleaming up at him behind a grin. Midorima's throat felt suddenly dry in the chilly air.

 

“...why are you looking at me like I'm a ghost,” Takao said suspiciously.

 

“I...you're...in good health,” Midorima managed to crackle out of his increasingly dry throat.

 

“I mean, yeah, I work out and eat pretty healthily. Usually. I mean, everyon needs to have a few cheat days a week but--”

 

“Nothing hap—I mean,” Midorima cleared his throat. “there were no dangerous or life-threatening incidents today?

 

“...I'm pretty sure that wasn't water I stepped in on the floor in the toilet back there, but that could hardly be called life-threatening compared to how this place gets on--”

 

“That's...fortunate,” Midorima said, strained.

 

Takao bent down, scooping up the tarp and Midorima watched every move, as if Takao really were a ghost. Takao folded it up noisily. “Wait...” he said, putting the tarp in the back of the cart. He turned, raising an eyebrow at Midorima. “Is this about Oha-asa?”

 

Midorima paled. Takao walked back to him, stopping abnormally close to Midorima's chest.

 

“You were _worried about me_.” The sudden wave of absolute glee that washed over Takao nearly blinded Midorima. It was enough to give him a headache.

 

“I was not,” Midorima stated coldly. “I only know that you were highly unlikely to have prepared your lucky item and color for the day, so I came to verify and--”

 

“Oh, but I did. See, look,” Takao pointed at the cart. “Wheels. Four of them, in fact. Quadruple lucky.”

 

“That's not how it works,” Midorima sniffed, placing his hands on his hips, “and anyway, you're missing your lucky color.”

 

“Hmm...that's true,” Takao nodded, but then he stepped to the side, looping an arm through Midorima's. “But it's okay now. You're here. I've got plenty of green.” It was like Midorima could feel the warmth of Takao's grin through his forearm. Midorima didn't pull away, but he didn't move to encourage Takao either. Takao seemed to be the last person in the world who needed encouragement. They stood for a moment, quiet, arms linked. Midorima could feel the cold on his neck.

 

“So, why did you _really_ come here,” Takao said, this time quieter, with less self-satisfaction.

 

Midorima thought of what he could say. He could further insist about the lucky items. He could say he came to watch the game.

 

“...the frog broke,” Midorima muttered.

 

“What? I didn't hear,” Takao looked up at him, cocking his head like a bird of prey.

 

“...There were multiple instances that, when added together, I believed were an omen of bad luck. As I said before, I wondered whether you had properly prepared yourself.”

 

“...So you were worried because I was ranked last and some stuff happened and freaked you out and you thought it was a sign I was in mortal peril, so you came to check on me,” Takao stated.

 

“...I would not word it in that manner, but I suppose that is the general gist of it,” Midorima prickled. He did not like to be mocked or made fun of.

 

“...shit, you're cute,” Takao's head ducked down and he _giggled_ into his own shoulder.

 

Midorima frowned and unhooked his arm, taking a step away from Takao. Takao finished giggling and stood up straight.

 

“Oh, damn, did you try calling me? Is that why you were worried?”

 

“...your phone went directly to voicemail.”

 

“My bad, I had to keep it turned off because I was off at a practice game with a team, in Niigata. I rode back on the bus with them too, so I had my phone turned off. If I'd known you were gonna call, I would have kept in on.”

 

Very suddenly Midorima felt an immense embarrassment crash upon him. He felt his face heat up.

 

“So, did you leave me a sexy message,” Takao moved forward, elbowing him lightly.

 

Midorima paled.

 

The message.

 

Takao couldn't see the message. Could Midorima delete it from his phone? No, that wouldn't delete it from Takao's. He could take Takao's phone. He could--

 

“Holy shit, _did you?!_ ”

 

Midorima realized Takao had been watching him closely, examining him. Takao had probably watched every single thought play out across Midorima's face. Midorima wished for an unexpected and immediate work transfer to Okinawa. Or America. Alaska would be good.

 

“I can't believe it. I'm checking it _right now_ ,” Takao's hand dove into his pants pocket quickly and Midorima's reached out just as quickly to stop it from pulling the phone out. Midorima's grip tightened around Takao's wrist. Midorima could feel Takao's pulse beneath his index and middle fingers, subconsciously measuring Takao's pulse without meaning too. It was slightly elevated. Midorima stared down, his eyes locked with Takao's. Midorima found himself at a loss.

 

“I...” Midorima swallowed and frowned. “I'll tell you, so will you promise to delete the message without reading it,” Midorima stated.

 

“...Okay,” Takao breathed. Midorima felt the pulse under his fingers quicken slightly.

 

Midorima pressed his lips together, thinking. Every ion in his body was telling him he shouldn't do what he was going to do. Midorima felt the warm pulse and slowly lifted Takao's wrist, turning it over as if he would be able to see the blood coarsing through it in the dark. Unsure, confused, he let his fingers slide slowly over the pulse. He felt the hairs on Takao's arm prickle.

 

Midorima looked at Takao, sinking into his eyes. “...what is the top speed at which you can pedal that cart,” Midorima asked carefully.

 

“...I think I'm about to set a personal record,” Takao swallowed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The rush of cold air that blew against them as Takao took them to Midorima's apartment apparently had done nothing to cool Takao down.

 

The moment the elevator door closed, Takao had turned on him and Midorima had found himself pushed back against the steel wall, Takao's fists white around Midorima's jacket lapels from pulling him down so hard to kiss him. Midorima's neck ached by the time the elevator doors dinged open. Takao urged him down the hall to his door, taking the keys from Midorima and opening a door to an apartment not his own far too quickly.

 

Once they had stumbled inside, suddenly the energy left them. They stood in the hallway, Takao respectfully removing his shoes and Midorima shut the automatically locking door behind them.

 

Takao waited as Midorima took off his shoes and took Takao's jacket, hanging them both in the entryway. Midorima stepped up into the apartment, and felt the urge to examine everything in his apartment that wasn't Takao.

 

“Hey,” Takao gulped. It came out as a whisper. “Um, where's your bedroom?”

 

It was actually obvious. Midorima's apartment only had the kitchen, living room, shower and toilet rooms, and one hall.

 

“Down the hall,” Midorima nodded. “On the right.”

 

“Okay. Cool,” Takao said.

 

And then Takao was throwing himself at Midorima again, lips crashing and teeth knocking. Takao's tongue lapped at Midorima's lips needily, diving in, deep, to fill Midorima's mouth with heat and wet.

 

They stumbled their way down the hallway, with intermiate breaks as Takao drove Midorima into the hallway wall every few feet to lick at his neck or bite into his colar bone. When they actually made it into the bedroom, Takao's shirt had somehow disappeared along the way. Midorima's sweater had been removed, leaving only his undershirt, slightly wet from the neck kissing.

 

A blink later, they were both on the bed, Takao straddling Midorima, working his shirt up to slide warm palms over Midorima's abdomen and lick at Midorima's nipples. Midorima, free of Takao's mouth, attempted to slow his breathing. His attempt was ruined when he realized that Takao's hands had traveled down and were unbuckling his belt. There was a small zip and then Takao was sliding down Midorima's legs, and taking Midorima's pants and boxer briefs with him. Takao backed off the bed, pulling the clothing cleanly off Midorima, only stopping for a moment when one pants leg hooked on Midorima's foot. Takao made quick work of his own pants, his own belt buckle jangling. Midorima vaguely noted Takao's hands must be shaking.

 

Then Takao was on the bed again, his weight dipping the firm mattress. However, Takao did not travel back up. Instead, he gently lifted the end of Midorima's left leg. Starting from the top of Midorima's foot, Takao began kissing. He kept kissing, occassionally biting softly, making his way up the bed and the inside of Midorima's leg. Midorima felt every kiss, every patch of skin that Takao left warm and wet. Midorima's toes curled responsively as Takao got closer, eventually settling comfortably between Midorima's thighs, the length of Midorima's leg now draped over his right shoulder.

 

“mn..fuck your legs go on for miles,” Takao said and it was deep, almost a growl, as he ran his wide, warm hands up the side of Midorima's thigh, following the line over his shoulder. He turned his head a Midorima felt a sudden, warm kiss on the inside of his thigh. Takao ran his hand back down and up Midorima's leg again, letting his hand rest, lightly gripping Midorima's ankle. He lifted, straightening Midorima's leg more, and the warmth of Takao's shoudler left the back of Midorima's knee...only to be replaced by the warmth of Takao's lips.

 

Midorima's leg jerked, the sensation foreign and both cool and warm at once. The hairs on his leg prickled as Takao continued, kissing the soft crook again, then licking at it, his hot tongue tickling the skin there. Midorima shuddered. Takao grinned a little, then let Midorima's leg slowly fall back over his shoulder. Takao kissed the small cut on Midorima's leg. Midorima was going to tell him how unhygenic that was, but he was distracted when Takao, in one swift movement, lifted Midorima's other leg over his other shoulder, simultaneously moving his pelvis closer to Midorima's ass. Midorima could feel the hot, soft touch of the head of Takao's dick against the flesh of his ass. Immediately, it was too much.

 

“Takao!”

 

“Hm,” Takao said dreamily.

 

“I...” Midorima didn't know how to say what he wanted to say. He opened his mouth, but then closed it. Takao's eyes met his for a moment and seemed to clear.

 

“If you're not comfortable with me...”

 

“It's not that. Only...” Midorima hated having to say this. He hated being in a position where he would have to say it.

 

Takao was silent for a moment, then nodded, the tips of his hair brushing Midorima's knees.

 

“Got it. We don't have to go that far tonight. There's plenty other stuff we can enjoy.”

Midorima didn't know if he liked the sound of that. He was aware of how men had intercourse together, and he had experienced a oral as well as dextral stimulation from Takao that had resulted in...

 

“Let's try this,” and Takao was shifting, moving himself and Midorima so that both of Midorima's legs were draped over Takao's right shoulder. Midorima had to cross them slightly at the ankles for both legs to fit.

 

“What are--”

 

“If you don't like it, tell me and I'll stop right away. Promise. I don't think it'll be a problem though,” Takao said archaically. Midorima frowned. Takao shifted again, and Midorima felt the heat of Takao's very erect penis against his buttocks and the back of his upper thigh.

 

“You said--” Suddenly Takao's left hand reached around and gripped Midorima's cock once, as if trying to somehow encourage it. Midorima shuddered.

 

“I know, I won't. Try to enjoy it,” Takao said in a voice that was far too silky. His warm hand left Midorima's penis right at the same time that Midorima felt a soft, hot warmth slide between the base of his thighs.

 

All too late Midorima realized what was happening. It wasn't until the head of Takao's cock peaked through his thighs, rubbing against the base of Midorima's dick, heat on heat, that Midorima understood what Takao was doing.

 

Takao pulled away slowly and thrust again, just as slowly. Midorima had heard of this before. Intercural sex...his mind provided fuzzily, then forgot as Takao pulled away and thrusted, harder this time, his testicles knocking against Midorima's ass, hitting his taint. Midorima felt the dull pound through the entire lower half of his body. His penis jumped, hardening more.

 

“Oh, you like that?”

 

“Don't ask such a stupid— _ah._ ”

 

Takao's dick slid against the underside of his again, this time with a hot wetness, precum slicking the movement. When Takao pulled away again, the air was cold on the wetness, and Midorima shivered, only for Takao to thrust again, bringing a burst of heat back through his thighs and up his shaft.

 

Takao's breathing quickened and he leaned forward, Midorima's thighs moving closer to his chest. Takao reached out, now within flicking distance of Midorima's right nipple. Takao flicked it twice, then ran his thumb over it smoothly, simultaneously thrust hard, the dull slap of his balls against Midorima's backside drowning out Midorima's own quickened breaths.

 

Midorima's brain worked, trying to distribute attention to the sensations he was feeling at his nipples, his thighs, his taint, and his dick. He felt like his brain was tearing, running to give attention to whichever body part felt the most sensation at any given second.

 

It was then that Takao moaned, heavy, thick, “ _Shintarou_ ” and thrusted faster, harder, biting turning his head to bite into Midorima's thigh. Midorima's precum mixed with Takao's, slicking the movement. Midorima felt heat boiling at the base of his back and moving forward. Unconsciously, he bucked his hips forward once, causing Takao to groan. Midorima appreciated the splite moment of control and did it again, this time causing both of them to gasp as Takao slid faster and farther than before, leaning into Midorima's thighs, the head of his cock rubbing half the length of Midorima's. Takao's weight pressed down, pressing Midorima's thighs into his chest, Takao siddled deep between them now, the friction from Midorima's thighs out of the way for Takao to slide his cock bare against the entire lenth of Midorima's. Takao's head rubbed against the underside as the front was pressed into Midorima's stomach, creating a sweet, burning friction on both sides. Midorima's eyesight was blurring, the heat building more, closer, nearer the top, spreading into the front of him.

 

“ _Ah,_ ” Takao moaned, gripping Midorima's arms on either side and moving fast. Takao thrust in time with his splintered, ragged breathing, his cock jumping and jerking against Midorima's. The heat was almost unbearable.

 

“Takao,” Midorima gasped a warning.

 

“ _Mm, Shintarou”_ Takao slammed into Midorima, sweat dripping onto Midorima, slicking their bodies, “ _I'm gonna cum soon. Ah! Shintarou,”_ Midorima felt the unbearable heat and pressure, the urge for more, for just a little more, and Takao thrust, a deep, hard thrust, slamming himself against Midorima's ass and thighs, driving Midorima that final step. “ _Ah! Shin-chan!”_ Takao whined, spilling all over Midorima's cock and stomach, thrusting one last final time, the extra heat sending Midorima into orgasm, his cum mixing with Takao's.

 

Takao collapsed, rollilng to the side to free Midorima's legs. They lay on the bed, panting, for what seemed to be an eternity. Finally Midorima's breathing slowed enough for him to listen to Takao's. Midorima realized that they hadn't bothered to turn on the light. The thought was a bit absurd, after the fact. Midorima had never done something so...brash.

 

It was only when the slick on his stomach started to cool and thicken that Midorima gathered his wits.

 

“I'm going to shower,” he announced, moving to sit up shakily.

 

“I'll help clean you,” Takao muttered foggily next to him. Midorima didn't bother telling him how stupid and unnecessary of an idea that was. Midorima went to the closet and took down a towel.

 

“Takao,” Midorima turned, finding Takao's outline in the dark. Takao was propped up, looking at him.

 

“Hm?”

 

“I think it would be appropriate for us to consider entering into a monogamous involvement.”

 

“Eh?,” Takao's form shot up to sitting on the bed. “Are you asking me to date you, Shin-chan.”

 

“If you agree to not call me by that name.”

 

“Hm. Well, I don't usually do the 'one-guy' thing...but you're pretty cute. I'd be willing to give it a shot.”

 

Midorima bristled. “There is nothing _cute_ about my appearance. I'm going to shower!” Midorima left the room, but he could feel Takao's smile following him all the way down the hall.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“No, Kise, I will not be having a bachelor's party. Neither will Takao. 1. Gay marriage is not legally recognized in most of the Kansai region still. 2. We have been officially dating for 48 hours. 3. Even if we were to have a bachelor's party, there would be no penis popsicles, I would not invite you, and I most certainly would not invite a Soundcloud DJ, no matter how _sick_ your DJ PimpJams friend is. If he is so sick, I recommend he seek medical care. Goodbye.”

 

Midorima hung up the phone, opening his locker. He slid off his jacket and took out his scrubs, changing into them. It was then that he noticed a paper in his locker, nestled on the shelf. There was a note. It read:

 

“ _Akemi wanted you to have this. She was moved to a facility to receive daily physical therapy and a fitting for prosthetics. The address is below. Before she left, however, she asked me to give this to you. I am not sure of the meaning, but I believe you will know. Thank you for helping with her.”_

 

It was signed by a nurse from the children's ward. Midorima realized that an object had been under the note. He set the note aside and reached in. He took out a small porcelain frog, glued back together, with the addition of a single dried macaroni on the top of its head.

 

Midorima tucked the frog into his pocket and slipped the note into his bag for safekeeping. The next free day they had, Midorima would take Takao to meet Akemi. He had a disturbing feeling that they would get along very, very well.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ...Well, that certainly happened. Yell at me at [ my tumblr.](http://www.schumie.tumblr.com)


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